“Awright, Simba. Ya ready?”
      The lion nodded and raised a forepaw.
      “Okay.” Timon squinted his eyes to slits, and Pumbaa did likewise. “Three...two...one...GO!!”
      The heavy paw swung down, slamming into the rotten wood and sending splinters flying in a spectacular detonation. Insects and grubs of all kinds sprayed through the air, falling upon the heads of the three companions in a bizarre rainshower as Timon hooted with obvious delight. “WAHOO! You hit a gusher, Simba!”
      “Thanks.” The lion grinned at his friend as Timon waded in. “Geez! Leave some for me, willya?!” Simba pounced forward and snuffled up a mouthful of the squirmy bugs, chewing with relish.
      “Me?!” Timon planted his hands on his hips in righteous indignation. “Look at you, big mouth! This from a guy who eats a whole nest of termites and comes back asking for seconds!”
      Pumbaa snorted and lifted his head. “Reawwy guys,” he said, chewing around a mouthful of chittering beetles, “it’s impowite to tawk wif your mouf full.”
      Timon wiped saliva from his face busily. “Thanks Mom,” he shot back. “Do you serve towels with your showers?” He picked the remains of a half eaten beetle from his face, then popped it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Hmmm....not bad.”
      “Timon?”
      “Yeah, Pumbaa?”
      “What’s a shower?”
      “Something you only take when it rains.”
      “Cool it, guys!” Simba lifted his head and sniffed warily, nostrils twitching in agitation. “I smell something funny.”
      Pumbaa blushed and lowered his head. “Sorry.”
      “Not you. This smells great!"
      “Hey!” Pumbaa grunted indignantly. “It’s not MY fault--”
      “Shhhh! Concentrate.” Simba turned and paced slowly around for a minute, scenting the wind. “This way. C’mon!” He padded off into the dense jungle, the swish and swaying of small branches the only sound of his passing. Warthog and meerkat looked at each other uncertainly, then followed.
      Simba pushed quietly through the undergrowth, pausing every now and again to scent at the air. The smell was tantalizing, filling his head with tingles of pleasure. Gods, the scent was alluring! It seemed so strange...and yet familiar all at once. Like...like...
      Simba stopped again, sniffing deeply of the air as Timon looked at him curiously. “What’s WITH you, kid?”
      “Can’t you smell it?”
      Timon sniffed. “Ech. Smells like a brushfire.”
      The thought sparked something in Simba’s mind, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
      The three wended their way among the ferns for a few more minutes, the scent steadily increasing as they went. Timon perched precariously atop Pumbaa’s head as they followed, straining to see ahead, but the only thing he was permitted to see was the lazily waving tip of the lion’s tail ahead. He sighed and rested his chin in his hands, grumbling.
      Simba came to an abrupt stop, and Pumbaa scrambled to avoid collision. Timon, caught unawares, sailed from atop the warthog’s head to smack solidly against Simba’s rump, bouncing to the ground in an ungainly heap.
      “Hey! Why don't you watch where you’re goin’--”
      “SHHH!” Simba peered ahead. The plants were thinning slightly, and he saw a faint glow from ahead. The scent was stronger than ever. “Check it out, guys.”
      The three crept closer, stopping at the edge of a clearing. Timon and Pumbaa peered agitatedly at the sight before them, unaware of their companion’s rapture.
      A small area of the jungle had been cleared to the dirt, the soft loam of the forest scraped aside to the hard dirt underneath. A strange hedge of sorts ringed the clearing, odd for the fact hat it appeared to be made of dead limbs and sticks rather than live plants. Peeking through the holes in the hedge, the three saw the twisting and writhing shape of an enormous bonfire in the center of the clearing. Around it stood what appeared to be large bushes made of the same dead sticks. And around the fire paced strange animals of a type that Simba had seen only rarely. They reminded him of monkeys, somehow, what with the way they walked on their hind legs, but the funny thing was their skin. Simba snickered in spite of himself. “Lookit that, fellas. They don't have any hair!”
      “Like they need it,” groused Timon. “Those are people, Simba, remember? I told you about people. They’re as noisy as badgers and twice as mean. We better get outa here.”
      “Oh, man,” Simba breathed. He had spotted the source of the scent. Over the fire stood a couple of sticks, and on them was perched an enormous antelope, sizzling and spitting in the flames. His tongue rolled out and he licked his lips slowly, never taking his eyes from the meat. “Oh gods, I would give my whiskers for a taste of that.”
      Pumbaa shook his head, then glanced to one side, where the humans were hoisting up another animal by the hind legs to cook. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the tusks of a warthog protruding from the snout. “Yeesh! I’m outta here!”
      “No, wait.” Simba licked a forepaw and slicked back the fringe of mane on his head and shoulders. “I want to make a good first impression.”
      “Are you crazy?” Timon said. “They’ll hang you right next to the pig.”
      “I don’t see how. I’m stronger and I’m faster. And all I want is the meat. They won’t follow us to get it back.”
      He roared fiercely and strode forward, splintering the wood boma as he shouldered his way through. A second roar sent the humans running, jabbering excitedly as they ran into their huts.
      “Hey, that was easy enough! Come on, fellows! Let’s eat!” Simba padded over to the fire, wincing at the heat, and peered upwards, wondering how to get the antelope down. Glancing about, he saw the gleam of the firelight from the eyes of the people hidden in the huts and grinned.
      His grin faded as they emerged, the light now glinting off the tips of spears, all pointed at him. “Uh oh!”
      The lion turned and bolted, rear paws spurting up dirt as he ran for the hole in the boma. A whirring sound filled the air, and spears began to fall around him, their sharp tips whickering evilly through the air as they passed. Bursting through the gap, he shot away into the jungle. “C’mon, guys! RUN FOR IT!”
      Warthog and meerkat followed obligingly as the humans emerged from the encampment, jabbering furiously and waving their weapons. A hissing sound filled the air, and a spear blurred past Simba to bury itself in a nearby tree, quivering angrily. Redoubling his speed, he crashed through the undergrowth, ripping vines and sticks asunder as he fled. Pumbaa ran alongside, Timon astride him and waving his arms wildly.
      “Come on fellows!” Timon yelled mockingly. “Let’s eat!”
      Pumbaa panted as he struggled to keep up with the terrified lion. “I think the natives are restless.”
      “No darned kidding!”

      Simba’s brush with humankind left him scared but still hungry. Somewhat pensive, he sat on the bank of a small pond, watching the fish swim in the crystal clear water. Some of them were rather large, and he felt that it would be a shame to waste all that meat on the bottom of a cold pond when it could be inside a nice warm lion.
      He considered his approach. As slow as the fish swam, they would perk up substantially the instant his paw entered the water. As he saw it, there were so many fish that if he jumped in the middle of the school and grabbed, he ought to catch at least one.
      After a while, the fish seemed to forget that Simba was there and began to behave normally. One of the came alluringly close to the surface, then snapped up a hapless fly that had fallen in the pond.
      “I guess it’s now or never,” Simba said. He tensed up, poised like a statue, then sprang.
      SPLASH!!
      Timon and Pumbaa watched in awe as Simba grabbed, missed, and grabbed again. Flailing about in the water, he chased fish around until he was covered in mud. The slippery algae on the rocks proved a bit much, even for his large paws. He slipped and fell over on his back.
      “Thunderation!”
      Some monkeys began to laugh in a nearby tree. “Fresh fish! Fresh fish!”
      Simba tried to ignore them. He concentrated on the task at hand, but with mud stirred up in the water it was almost impossible. Still he thrashed about, finally managing to chase a fish into some very shallow water. A quick smack of his paw pinned it to the bottom.
      “Gotcha!”
      He looked up proudly. “Hey guys, look what I got!”
      The fish thrashed around, and as slippery as it was, it worked out from under Simba’s paw. The lion made another quick jab, but only managed to get water in his eyes. He rubbed his face with disgust.
      “Hey guys!” one of the monkeys said. “Look what I got!” Gales of laughter erupted in the tree.
      “Shut up!” Timon shouted from the nearby riverbank. “We’ll have gibbon instead of fish!”
      At that remark, one of the monkeys pulled a ripe fruit and tossed it with almost flawless accuracy. At least it hit Pumbaa....
      Others began to pull fruit, and Timon sounded a quick retreat. It was just in the nick of time, too. Fruit began landing all around them as they scrambled to put distance between themselves and the troop.
      As Simba ran, he began to dwell on what he had lost. That fish meat would have tasted good. A curse on those monkeys! Maybe with a little more time things might have been different.
      As Simba checked behind him to see if the monkeys were pursuing, he failed to notice the thinning trees around him. He absently noticed the light level increasing, but it failed to register until his front paws sank into soft grass instead of the spongy mat of leaves on the jungle floor.
      He turned his head to look and sucked in a deep breath of awe. “Oh!”
      Arrayed before him was an immense expanse of grassland, stretching out as far as he could see, the gentle fingers of the wind stirring the ground restlessly into a panorama of motion. He paused for a moment, the stepped out tentatively into the open.
      Timon glanced at him apprehensively. “Hey? What’re ya doin’?!”
      “This is beautiful!”
      Timon and Pumbaa felt naked and exposed without the canopy of trees. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
      Simba had only good feelings. The cloying scent of rotting vegetation, ever present in the jungle, was gone, whisked away by a clean wind that brought the earthy smell of grass and ground, an ambrosia of scents that made his nostrils twitch with excitement. The last time he had breathed such scents, he had been but a child, the tall stalks of grass towering over his pudgy body as he waddled through the flora. Now he stood upright, the tops of the plants brushing his shoulders as he surveyed the plain, and nothing wad hidden from him. The faint flash of a thunderstorm on the horizon winked at him from far to the southwest, and a small herd of zebra paced leisurely a few miles off, bobbing their heads and gossiping in their singsong voices. He raised his head to look at the sky and grinned, settling down and rolling onto his back as he watched the clouds scud slowly by. “Oh yeah!” He sighed. “Come on, fellows! It’s OK. It’s great out here!”
      “No thanks. We’ll stay here and watch.”
      “Jeez! What is it with you two?” Irritated, Simba started to rise. Pushing himself up on his forepaws, he shifted, preparing to get up, when his ears flicked towards a sound from the grass behind him. He turned, seeing the stalks rustling and waving, but not from the wind. What breeze there was shifted slightly, and his nose twitched as he caught the long forgotten but unmistakable scent of a lioness. “Who’s there??” he said, frightened.
      “Hey, it’s OK. I’m not going to rush you.” Timon and Pumbaa quivered in the underbrush as a golden face appeared. “My name is Sasha.”
      Simba stared, entranced by the lovely visage. “Pretty name.”
      “Thanks.”
      He smiled. “Hey, it’s been a long time since I’ve talked to another of my own kind.”
      “Are you a rogue lion?”
      “Worse,” he said broodingly. “There’s something natural about a rogue lion. I’m--well--oh forget it.”
      “You’re lonely? I can understand that.” She stepped from the grass, the entire length of a fully grown lioness revealing itself as she came to sit beside him. “How long has it been? A moon? Two?”
      “Since I was three moons old.”
      “My gods!” She looked at him with wonder. “How did you survive?”
      Simba gestured over at Timon and Pumbaa. “I had help.”
      “Them??” Sasha smiled. She looked back at Simba. “You mean you’ve been without lion friends since you were three moons old?”
      “I’ve been without lion enemies too. You’re the first I’ve seen since my father....” He looked down.
      She came to him and nuzzled him. “You poor dear!”
      An embarrassed smile lit his face. “I forgot how good lionesses smell. But you look so small. I used to look up at my mom.”
      She laughed. It was a merry sound that reminded him of Isha’s wonderful chuckle, a sound that was as warm as a good hug.
      “Hey Simba!” Pumbaa shouted. “Come back!”
      “It’s all right.”
      “No it’s not!”
      “Don’t be ridiculous, Pumbaa.”
      “If you don’t believe me, ask HIM!”
      “What?” Simba patiently began to explain that it was a female who sat beside him when another scent reached out and slapped his senses. This one was utterly familiar, despite the intervening wall of years. He had smelled it when his father had rescued him and Nala from the hyenas clutches; the scent of a male lion full of rage and ready for battle. Simba turned his head slowly to see the immense form part the grass.
      "Who are you talking to, Sasha?" The amber eyes narrowed and regarded Simba coldly, mouth tightening into a flat line that gleamed at the edges where his incisors protruded. “Listen you snotty-nosed brat. Run along before I have to sharpen my claws on you."
      “Wait, Jomo,” Sasha said rapidly. “It’s all right--”
      Timon shouted, "What makes you think you can talk to us like that?? Why, Simba here will use you for a beanbag!"
      The shine left the lion’s eyes, leaving them flat and deadly. “So it’s Simba, is it?? Well, Simba, why don’t you prove it!” His tail stiffened slightly as his shoulders hunched, and he began to stalk slowly towards the terrified youngster.
      Sasha stood aside fearfully as Simba gathered his legs under him in a crouch, creeping backwards towards the treeline. “Hey, no need to get huffy, sir.” He looked back at the meerkat. “Cool it, Timon! Hakuna Matata, remember?"
      The adult lion grinned humorlessly. “You have a lot of worries if you ask me. Or maybe just one big one. Me.”
      “We were just leaving.”
      “I’d bet my next kill on it.” As he spoke, the lion flattened his ears and swept towards Simba in a deadly rush, fangs bared fully, the light gleaming off them in a promise of death. Simba gave a roar of surprise and jerked away, scrabbling for purchase as he tried to turn and flee. The monarch’s paw whipped around and struck the young lion, his claws scoring crimson furrows in Simba’s haunch. Simba cried out in pain and fear, the lion’s roars thundering in his ears as he sprinted away towards the safety of the jungle. He glanced back and saw the lion still pursuing, the sight goading him to run even faster.
      Finally he stopped, unable to run any longer, his sides burning with pain as his breath whooped in and out in great tides of air. He turned slowly, expecting to see the great brute bearing down on him for the kill.
      Instead, he saw only empty jungle, a very relieved warthog, and an indignant meerkat who sat astride Pumbaa’s head, glaring at him.
      Timon asked, “Why did you run away like that?? That dope was a softie; you coulda thrashed him easy!”
      Simba licked the bleeding claw marks on his injured haunch and wondered at that. “Once a very wise lion told me he was only brave when he HAD to be. You don't go asking for trouble.”
      “Simba, I don't think you should go back there for awhile.”
      The young lion grinned shakily at Pumbaa. “Good idea.”
      The rest of the afternoon passed blissfully uneventful, and the trio even managed to scare up enough insects that evening to go to bed relatively full. But Simba lay awake long after the others had passed into sleep, his head on his paws as he thought about that beautiful sky above, and the wonderful feeling of space around him, unobstructed by vines and trees. As his eyes began to close, he wondered idly what Nala was doing right now, and if she was as pretty as Sasha had been, her tawny face framed by the waving stalks of the grasslands.

      Nearby, Timon lay enraptured in dreams of a different sort.
      “The rhinoceros beetle, my dear, IF you please.” Timon grinned, as he lay back, literally in the lap of luxury. His head was pillowed on the legs of a meerkat female who sat cross legged, tickling the fur on the top of his head. Giggling, she nodded, and picked the struggling insect from a pile of bugs that lay nearby, popping into his mouth delicately. “There you go.”
      He chewed, savoring the delightful crunch. “Thanks, babe.”
      “Of course.” She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back, admiring the beautiful white fur that enveloped her whole body. “You’re kinda cute, you know that?”
      “You too.” Bending over, she rubbed her nose against his, making him chuckle with laughter. “You’re really special, you know that?” He blinked. “What makes you say that?”
      “The way you and your friend took care of that lion cub.”
      “Oh, Simba?” Timon shrugged. “Least we could do. You know, when we first found him, he was almost dead. We saved his life!”
      She nodded. “I know. that was very thoughtful of you.”
      “We practically had to teach the kid everything; what to eat, where to sleep...” Timon sighed. “He’s gettin kinda big now though.”
      She remained silent, stroking his cheek quietly, waiting for him to continue.
      Finally, he did. “He’s gettin kinda big, all right.” Timon examined his hands uncomfortably. “Pretty soon he’s not gonna need us any more.”
      She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
      “Really?”
      “Oh, there’s a few things that still have to be done.”
      He looked at her strangely. “Like what?”
      By way of answer, she leapt out from under him, sending his head to the ground with a dull thump. “YEOWCH!” He sat up rubbing his head, and was immediately flattened again as she tackled him, sending the two of them rolling through the grass until she finally pinned him to the ground with her weight, holding his shoulders tight with her hands. “You silly little fellow!”
      “Whaddya tryin ta do, kill me--” he trailed off, entranced by her beautiful eyes, gleaming silver-blue as they stared into his own. “Pretty eyes.”
      “Everyone says that.” She chuckled, then looked at him intently. “Your friend has reached a turning point in his life. He needs someone to walk with him across the bridge. Great things lie ahead for him, but there are forks in the path. You must help guide him along the way.” She reached down and played with the fur on his cheek, sending shivers down his spine. “You’ll do that for him, won’t you?”
      "You betcha. What do I have to do?"
      "First of all, he has grown his mane. You need to give him his mantlement. That's the leonine coming of age ceremony. You'll pray for him, stroke his mane, and pronounce him an adult. Then you will help him find his destiny. In his case that will involve some risk for you."
      His focus on her wavered slightly. “Risk??"
      She stroked him under his chin, riveting his attention on her again. "But you will be very brave and won't let me down. I know this for a fact."
      He looked at her spellbound. "I will be very brave," he stammered.
      “You will help him."
      "I will help him."
      "I knew I could count on you." She looked penetratingly into his eyes and drew very close. He could feel her soft breath on his face, enveloping him in the smell of wild honey. "Daima pendana," she whispered, kissing his cheek.
      Timon jerked awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes in the first gray light of dawn. Gingerly, he rubbed the back of his head and looked at where he had been lying, seeing the rock protruding from the ground.
      “Stupid stone.” He rose, stretching and yawning with exaggeration, feeling the stretch and pull of his muscles as he stood. He was standing there, glancing about blearily, wondering where he might find a good bit of breakfast, when his eyes fell on Simba. He stood still for a long moment, then pattered over to the lion and yanked on his whiskers. “Up and at ‘em!”
      “WHAAAA!!” Simba’s eyes bulged and he jerked back, his claws splaying involuntarily. “What the--”
      “C’mon! Get up, ya bums! It’s daybreak already! We ain’t got much time.” Scampering over, Timon took a deep breath and nipped Pumbaa’s tail lightly, waking the warthog with a shriek and sending HIM running into Simba. Lion and warthog stood trembling at the tiny apparition which ranted at them.
      “C’mon! We gotta get goin!”
      “Where, Timon?”
      “The waterfall, knucklehead! It’s the only place high enough!”
      “For WHAT?!”
      “Your mantlement, dummy!”
      “My wha--” Simba froze. “Gods, you’re right.” He lowered his head. “But I know so little about it; my dad only told me a little about the ceremony.”
      Timon glared at him. “Are you a lion?”
      “Yeah.”
      “You got a mane?”
      “Well, yeah...”
      “We can fake the rest. C’mon!” He smacked Simba’s rump and trotted off into the forest, grumbling.
      Some time later, the three stood on the rocks that overlooked the falls, feeling the cool morning breeze caress their faces, carrying with it a damp spray of droplets from the falls. They sat silently, hearing the calling of the first birds in the clear air. Timon fidgeted nervously and glanced at Pumbaa, who was clearly just as nervous as he was. They glanced at Simba enviously; the lion sat quiescent, head bowed slightly and eyes closed.
      Simba felt a preternatural calm as he sat, hearing the dull roar of the falls below him and the tremors that traveled back up through the rock, vibrating in the pads of his feet. Finally, he detected the first warm rays of light on his eyelids. Opening them, he looked to Timon and nodded slightly.
      Timon cleared his throat, trembling with nervousness as he raised his voice. “Uhh, ahem! Let everybody that can hear me know that Simba is following his fathers.” He cringed, looking at Simba, who said nothing as he continued to look at the rising sun. “Look, he bears the sign!”
      Silence reigned, and Pumbaa cleared his throat. Timon closed his eyes and hoped fervently that this next bit might go okay; Pumbaa had insisted on giving the ritual prayer. His eyes opened slowly as he heard the warthog’s words.
      “I don't really know what to say to you, God. But you're smart enough to figure out what I mean. He was all alone in the desert, and we found him lying there, and jeez, if we hadn't found him, he would have died. But we did, and I don't think it's an accident that we came along when we did. You know? I mean what are the chances of that? Well, anyway, he's got this fuzz on his neck, and for lions that's supposed to be a big deal and all. It means our little cub is grown, and I guess what I'm trying to say is if he was my own son, I couldn't be any more proud of him than I am right now. Thanks for giving us a shot at this. I love him, and you make sure nothing bad happens to him, OK?"
      He looked up to see the two of them looking at him wonderingly. "Was that all right?"
      Simba nuzzled him. "Beautiful. You're a good friend, Pumbaa."
      Timon nudged him. “It’s time. Go for it, kid.”
      Simba nodded. He took a deep breath and roared, the sound shattering the stillness as it echoed across the rocks and canyons. The raucous sound of the birds below fighting for breakfast fell silent, and there was only the sound of the falling water.

      Simba was walking restlessly along a well worn path through the jungle, his feet making no sound as they padded along the trail. He paused, glancing down at the far end where it ended, the trees beginning to thin out at the limit of his vision. A slight smile rose as he set about carefully marking the unseen boundary between the savannah and the forest. Grouchy old booger, he thought. Come in HERE and I’LL show you a thing or two. He longed to trot down to the end of the path and roll under that delightful sky once again, but dared not; he was still not fully grown, and he was well aware of the difference between boldness and foolishness.
      As he turned to leave, the sharp crack of a tree limb above reached him, and he ducked sidewise, expecting to see the colorful splash of a rotten fruit strike near him. Stupid monkeys, he thought irritably. He was smart enough not to look straight up. There had been times before when he had caught a ripe fruit right in the face.
      Instead of a fruit, however, an antelope fell out of the tree and plopped on the ground right in front of him. As he stared, shocked, a voice floated down from above.
      “Damn! Of all the times to drop something!”
      It was a female voice, a melodious catlike voice but not a lioness. Moments later, a large leopardess came bounding down the trunk with the intensity of a vertical run. She pounced on the antelope and said, “Mine! Buzz off!”
      Taken aback, Simba looked up in the tree and back at her. “You got that all the way up there?”
      The leopardess glared at him. “What of it?”
      “Well, I just thought....” He looked at her and at the antelope. “Did you have help?”
      She half smiled. “No. I did it by myself. Haven’t you ever seen a leopard do that before?”
      “I’ve never seen a leopard before.” He looked at her appraisingly. “Those spots are so--so neat!”
      She purred. “I’ve seen you here before, and I’ve always wanted to ask. How did a lion like you get in a forest like this?”
      “Long story,” Simba said with a shrug.
      “You hang out with those two?”
      Simba knew immediately whom she was referring to. “Well, uh, yeah. What of it?”
      “Oh nothing. I just thought I’ve never seen you with another lion before. But there are a lot of strange things in this forest. Like that pair of hyenas.”
      “Gur’bruk and Kambra?”
      “You know them? They healed my shoulder once.”
      “What do you know! They saved my life once.”
      “Small world, isn’t it?” With a quick snatch of her powerful jaws, the antelope was on its way up the tree. In five or six bounds of her powerful legs, the prey was cached away in the branches.
      “Whoa! I’d give anything to know how to do that!”
      She came bounding down again. It was always disconcerting to Simba when she did that.
      “Let me get this straight. You’re grown and you don’t know how to hunt?”
      “Yeah.” Simba looked away.
      “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”
      Simba looked at the ground. His ears and tail drooped. “She didn’t get a chance. My dad gave me a few pouncing lessons.”
      “And?”
      “He died when I was very little.”
      “I’m sorry. So have you scavenged all this time?”
      “No, ma’am. I’ve eaten bugs.”
      “Bugs??”
      “These guys helped me. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”
      It brought out some of the motherly feelings in her. The corners of her mouth twitched. “I lost a cub once. I had a lot of things I wanted to tell her, and they’ve been bottled up inside me. Look, if you wait till I chow down, I’ll give you a couple of lessons, OK?”
      “Neat!”

      The leopardess had a leisurely meal in the tree. She did not offer to share her meal, and she was not asked. Timon and Pumbaa watched her pull off strips of the fresh meat and mince them with a look of pleasure before swallowing. Timon stared at her hungrily, running the tip of his tongue slowly around his lips. “Look at that, Pumbaa! That’s how real people live.”
      Pumbaa said nothing, but his stomach complained periodically. Simba was quite content to watch her. Part of his missing heritage would be given him, and he awaited the wonderful secrets she would impart with open-mouthed wonder. “Imagine, me a hunter! A hunter like my mother before me!”
      Pride began to swell in his chest, and he hadn’t even tried his luck at it yet.
      Finally as the sun was getting low in the sky, she nosed the carcass and it fell out of the branches. Stretching in her precarious perch, she yawned, shook herself, and ambled down the tree. “You ready?”
      “Yes ma’am!”
      “Lose the ‘yes ma’am.’ My name’s Mikosi.”
      “I’m Simba.”
      “Glad to meet you at last.” She nuzzled him.
      “I’m Timon, if anyone cares. This is my friend Pumbaa.”
      Without even glancing in their direction, Mikosi continued. “If you’re going to learn from me, you must do what my cub would have done. Speak when spoken to, and then very softly. Every word we say is an enemy, seeking to betray us. Do you agree to this?”