Beyond the gorge lay the thorns, and beyond the thorns lay the land where even thorns would not grow. It was the desert, the place of lost hope.
      The wind blew slowly but steadily across the face of the dunes, carrying a light misting of sand with it as it blew into Simba’s face, making him squint, his eyes burning. There were no rich earthy smells of life--it was the sterile smell of solitude.
      A faint whistling sound caught his ears, and as he topped a rise, he saw the skull of a small animal, bleached white in the sun and picked clean by vultures. No jackal would come to that forsaken place. Simba blinked at it for a moment, peering into the eyesockets, and seeing the clean white interior polished by the grit-laden wind. He could see himself lying there. Perhaps his turn would come over the next dune, or beyond that range....
      He padded slowly down the soft face of the dune, floundering in the soft sand for a moment before regaining his footing. The hot wind gusted again, driving needles of grit into his face and bringing no relief from the heat. “I deserve it,” he thought. He couldn’t imagine what being trampled to death was like, but surely it had to be worse than lying on the sand to sleep and never wake up. “Dad, come for me when I die. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
      Simba shook his head and gasped, breathing rapidly. Struggling through the sand, he began to run, mindlessly fleeing the thoughts that tore at him, wishing he could only find a place to lay for a moment and rest. Heart pounding, he fled across the featureless face of the desert, just one more golden speck in that vast sea of sand.
      The ground abruptly firmed beneath him, and he was scrambling across the hardpan, the bed of a long forgotten lake, now rough and unyielding in the sun’s merciless onslaught. He slowed, panting hoarsely, unable to continue at the rapid pace, padding slowly across the ground. The heat hammered at him from the firm sand, the imbedded salt deposits glittering like a spray of diamonds caught in the earth. The glare blinded him, and he slitted his eyes, paws quietly pat-a-pattering against the hardpan.
      And then something glimmered far ahead.
      Simba sat, shading his watering eyes with a forepaw as he fought to see, his thirst-swollen tongue hanging limply from his mouth. It shimmered invitingly, a quicksilver gleam at the edge of his vision.
      Water. Oh gods, WATER!!
      He rose and padded towards it rapidly, then began to trot. Soon he was running, his tired and dangerously overheated muscles running off some unknown inner reservoir, the sweat-matted fur on his forehead flying as he ran, oh gods it would taste so good, he wouldn’t even slow down, he would just sprint full tilt into it, splashing happily as he drank, he would roll in it, he would....
      He slowed, his eyes gaping in disbelief as he saw the edge of the water begin to recede from him, the shoreline backing away as he came closer. Padding to a stop, he gaped at the glimmering lake ahead, wondering what was happening. His mouth fell open and he uttered a dull croak. “Uh?”
      High above him, an answering croak returned from a soaring vulture. Its mate heard and responded. Soon they were joined by a third, and then others as the avian sentinels began to circle in cold anticipation.
      Simba stood unaware of this, his mind trembling on the edge of awareness. He broke into a shambling run again, moaning as the waterline receded again...again...small islands of sand appeared in the water, slowly growing in size till there were only remnants of the sparkle that had deceived him.
      The cub arrived on the spot where the beautiful lake had been to see only more sand. Dry, hot sand. He had discovered the how cruel the desert could be. His jaw began to tremble as tears came to his eyes.
      Running was no use. Soon he would be back with his father. He stumbled on a few more steps, then toppled, the hard desert floor catching him with a dull thud. Simba laid on the sand, paws stirring weakly in restless motion as the heat drew at him. Tears cut clean courses through the dusty fur on his cheeks as he lay quiescent, unable to fight anymore, waiting for the end to come. “Mother!” he cried weakly. “Mother!”
      A terrible weight clutched at his chest as he thought of her. He would never see her until her time came in the years to come. Nala was always such a good friend. Did she know he was dying? And after Scar told the pride of what he had done, would she even care? Sarafina was always so kind to him, like an aunt. And Uncle Scar--oh how disappointed he had looked! His brother lay dead. Simba’s father. Sarabi’s husband. “Mother!” He sobbed again.
      A soft lioness voice called to him. “Take heart, my son.”
      Against all hope, could his mother have heard him? He looked up and saw nearby a cloud white lioness on the sand. “Come to me. You are in need. I can help you.”
      “I’m seeing things again! You’re not real!”
      “If I’m not real, how do I do this?” She let out a puff of breath and in moments a cool breeze swept over Simba. It felt wonderful.”
      Simba stared, awestruck. “You’re real! You’re really her! Minshasa!”
      She smiled. “You know me? Then you must know I won’t hurt you.”
      Simba struggled to his feet and stumbled over to her. He fell before her, face down. Tears began to run down his face. “Please help my dad! Do one of your miracles! He’s in the gorge back to the east! Please make him come back! He’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” He sobbed until he shook.
      “Your father is with God. It is too late to help him.”
      “Are you here to take me too?”
      “Not this time.” She purred. “I am in my milk. You are a little old for this, but I think it would be all right this once.”
      Simba dragged himself to her side. He snuggled up against her belly, nuzzling the soft fur in obvious embarrassment but desperate for sustenance. He fed slowly, feeling strength returning to his limbs, the trembling muscles relaxing at last. He lay quietly, eyes half closed, lulled by the sound of Minshasa’s breathing and the steady beat of her heart, the sounds evoking memories from far back in a haven of comfort, safety and love.
      Presently, he looked up, milk running down his chin. Minshasa cleaned him off with her tongue, then began to groom him. He purred.
      “What can I do, Minshasa? Where can I go?”
      “Follow the setting sun. It will take you to a safe place.”
      “But can’t I stay with you?”
      “No, son.”
      “Please?”
      “No, Simba. Your destiny lies to the west.”
      “You know who I am?”
      “Yes, and what’s more, I know why you’re here.”
      He looked down. “Oh.”
      Tears streamed down her face. “Simba, my precious little boy!” She nuzzled him and he came and huddled against her comforting bulk, sobbing brokenly. “Poor little child! So much grief, so much pain!”
      “All my fault!”
      She began to groom him, her warm tongue washing away his tears in its rough caress. “Poor little Simba. So tired, little Simba. So tired.”
      Simba yawned, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I am kind of tired.” He yawned again.
      “So tired,” she repeated like a meditation. “So tired. Sleep now. Yes, sleep. Sleep soundly, and when you do, forget you saw me here. Forget, Simba. Forget everything but this: follow the setting sun. It will take you to a safe place.”
      Simba surrendered to the enchantment, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Minshasa bent and gripped the cub in her jaws tenderly, lifting him easily enough. Turning, she trotted away westward, paws kicking up gentle spurts of sand as she moved. A few moments later, her outline shimmered slightly, and she became faintly translucent, Simba following suit. She began to pick up speed, paws moving rapidly over the ground, yet not disturbing the sand in the slightest. Minshasa ran steadily, tirelessly, heedless of the mortal constraints of fatigue and thirst as she flew across the desert surface. And the cub in her jaws slept soundly. Having been drawn into the twilight world between Ma’at and the spirit realm, he also felt no thirst or hunger, but passed the moments in the gentle cradle of sleep.
      Minshasa continued onward well into the night, the moon’s glow welcome but not necessary. As she breasted yet another dune, she slowed, tensing. Pacing forward, she felt a tingling sensation pass over her body. She stopped, stretching out with all her senses, physical and otherwise, then nodded slowly. She had passed beyond the edge of Melmokh’s malign influence. Heaving a sigh of relief, she turned to continue onward and froze.
      Standing atop the dune in front of her sat a solitary lion, his pure white fur gleaming mellowly in the moonlight. He looked at her silently as she slowly padded over to him, laying Simba down gently and then looking at him, her eyes pleading.
      He shook his head. "I'm sorry. We cannot interfere any more. Melmokh cannot reach him this far away, and Simba must make his own path from here."
      "Mano, we cannot just leave him! Too much depends on him!"
      He looked at her sternly. "Would you cripple him, springing to his side whenever he faces trials?” His voice softened. “No, my love. It must be this way.” He kissed her gently. “He must face his destiny. All we can do is to keep the balance. Aiheu will not forsake him."
      "I know. But look how small he is. He cannot survive by himself."
      “I have arranged that,” Mano said gently. “Someone who can understand him and who will love him.”
      “Husband,” she cooed, nuzzling Mano. But she quickly turned back to the cub. She trembled as she looked at Simba lying on the sand. Bending down to the cub, she kissed his cheek softly. "Your feet tread a stony path, one you must follow to its end, my child. But do not despair--it leads back to Aiheu."
      With one last glance, the two walked away to the west, fading slowly from sight, becoming transparent, then slowly discorporating, their outlines dancing in the moonlight like motes of dust. A light wind skidded across the desert floor, swirling the dust into a haphazard pattern to conceal their tracks.

      After a discrete pause to allow the new king to try to compose himself, Zazu respectfully requested an audience with Taka to discuss a personal matter. The lion readily agreed, and the two wandered off to a quiet corner of Pride Rock where they could talk undisturbed.
      “Now then, my loyal friend.” Taka summoned up a smile and nodded to the hornbill. “What’s on your mind?”
      “Well, Sire...I’m rather loath to breach the subject at a time like this...”
      “Oh come come, we’re all friends here.”
      “Well...” Zazu rubbed his primaries together nervously. “Back in the gorge, I was going to fly away and summon some more help to rescue the young prince-”
      Taka dropped his head. “God rest his soul,” he said quietly.
      “Indeed.” Zazu cleared his throat, wondering if it might not be such a bad idea to drop the subject altogether.
      Finally, Taka lifted his head, eyes bright. “I’m sorry. Do go on.”
      “Well, I must have struck something...because I don't remember what happened.”
      “Oh, my, yes!” Taka looked distressed. “Gods, Zazu, I’ve been terribly remiss; I remember finding you lying there on the ledge! ARE you quite all right?”
      “Why...yes, Sire.”
      “Excellent!” Taka breathed a sigh of relief. “At least you did not suffer any grievous injuries. Heaven knows there’s been enough of that today.” He looked at Zazu shyly. “You know, my brother didn’t think of you as his servant. He used to refer to you as “Little Brother” when he spoke of you.”
      “He did?” Zazu was clearly caught off guard.
      “Bezraak the Fish Eagle was keen on getting the job. Mind you, he was stronger, sharper sighted, and a prince in his own right. He would have looked impressive perched next to Mufasa when visitors came by. If he’d made the right administrative decision, my little friend, there would have been no contest. But you had something Bezraak did not have.”
      “What was that?” Zazu asked, greatly interested.
      “Mufasa’s heart.” Taka put a paw across his eyes. “He turned Bezraak down because you always tried so hard to please, and because you took such good care of him when we were growing up. He loved you, truly loved you.”
      “Oh!” Zazu’s head bowed and his tail feathers drooped. “May the gods bless him! I loved him too, but one doesn’t say such things to one’s betters. But he’s gone now, and I’m saying it.”
      “That’s fine. Now about us.” Taka licked his paw and used it to groom his dark mane. “I see no reason why the we should be at odds all the time. Frankly, I’m in no great rush to call Bezraak. It would be a slap in the face of my dear brother. I’ve lost enough today--I don’t want to lose you too.”
      “That’s very kind of you to say, but....”
      “But?”
      “Well, I feel a little uncomfortable, Scar. I mean, Sire.”
      “In what way?”
      “I’m sure it’s just me. But you know, I know Pa’haal of the Wildebeests, and I’d like to have a word with him. Just to settle my mind. You understand, don’t you Sire?”
      “Oh, I understand perfectly.” He gently patted Zazu on the head, who cringed but tried to smile. “Why don’t you come outside. I’ll call together the lionesses, and we’ll have a frank discussion, no holds barred. I’ll send Uzuri to find Pa’haal. And even though I can’t stand him, I know Rafiki is no liar. We’ll have him do whatever that thing is he does at times like these to see if every word I said is not the AB-solute truth.”
      “Oh, I didn’t call you a liar, Your Majesty.”
      “I didn’t say you did, now did I? But if I didn’t lie, I shouldn’t be afraid to be put to the test, now should I? And I promise you that no one leaves till everyone is completely satisfied. Will that help?”
      “Yes, Sire.” He preened self-consciously. “I must say you’re being awfully big about this. Anyhow, I thought you’d want me to be forthright about my feelings. You know, clean slate and all?”
      “Clean slate. I like that.”
      “Then you’re not angry?”
      Taka half laughed. “Well, not angry.” He looked at his claws and groomed his mane again. “Maybe a little disappointed. Since we’re being so open and forthright with each other, I know I’m moody and a little temperamental, but I do have my good points. No one ever takes note of those, however.” The lion examined him with his best gazelle eyes, waiting for Zazu to melt down and call the whole idea a lot of rot. Zazu did look away with some shame, but he made no move to cancel the inquest.
      Behind Taka’s calm face, he made a firm resolve to do what he must do to survive. Besides, he was sick of being nice to Zazu.
      The two rose and headed back toward the lionesses, who were still assembled at the foot of Pride Rock, deep in their grief. Clearing his throat, Taka called their attention.
      "We have a small problem to address. Our friend Zazu was supposed to protect Simba, you know. I mean, it WAS his job, or I would have been looking over the boy myself. But we TRUSTED him!”
      Zazu shifted nervously.
      Taka brought his forearm over his eyes and cried, “What a mistake! What a foolish mistake! It seems one of the lionesses, and I won’t reveal which one, found him ASLEEP ON THE JOB!”
      Zazu recoiled. "W-What??"
      "Let’s get to the bottom of this serious charge, Zazu. Where were you when my brother and nephew were being trampled, eh? Sleeping again?!!"
      "Sire! I would never presume to sleep on duty! Besides, I WAS there; you saw me!"
      "Rubbish! I did NOT see you because you were NOT there! Are you going to add lying to the other charge?” He looked around. “Is there ONE of you that can vouch that he was on the job? Did ONE of you see him? Come on, I’m giving you a chance to speak out freely!” He looked around for effect. “If just ONE will say they saw him with Simba, I’ll give Zazu the benefit of the doubt.” He examined the faces one by one. “Will no one speak in his defense?”
      “You know I was there!” Zazu said, scandalized. “Tell them, Sire! Tell them!”
      “I will NOT lie for you, you pathetic ball of fluff! Only your past record keeps me from killing you here and now!"
      Zazu began to shake as all attention focused on him. "But I-"
      The lionesses glared at Zazu. “How COULD you!” Sarabi said in a tear-choked voice. “That’s not like you, Zazu! You knew he was never to go there! I thought you loved him! Why, Zazu?? Why??”
      Taka bared his teeth. "Listen to the anguish of a wife and mother! Had you been watching Simba as you were supposed to, he wouldn't have wandered into the gorge, would he?"
      "Y-Yes, but-"
      "And my brother wouldn't have had to go after him, would he?"
      "N-No, but-"
      Taka leaned close. "And IF you had done your job, they wouldn't be DEAD, would they??!!"
      "S-Sire, please....” He whispered just low enough for Taka to hear: “I didn’t think you hated me that much!”
      “You have no idea.” Taka stared at him with eyes like red coals. “So you wish I were a rug so when I got dirty, he could take me out and beat me??”
      “Spare me!” Zazu shrieked. “Just let me go! Let me go and I’ll never trouble you again, I swear!”
      "Shut up," Taka said, his voice dripping with contempt. "In view of your past service and the love which my brother held for you, I will not have you killed."
      Zazu sighed, trembling, but jerked in alarm as a pair of hyenas took up station on either side of him.
      "Instead, you will be confined for the rest of your life, where I can keep an eye on you as you reflect on your guilt and hopefully find forgiveness and mercy in Aiheu. For you shall NEVER find forgiveness nor mercy in me, not in this lifetime or a hundred lifetimes!" Taka leaned forward until his nose touched the hornbill's beak, his voice dropping to a murmur that only Zazu could hear. "And should you start any more trouble, I'll pluck out your feathers one by one and shove you in the waterhole to drown. Understand?"
      Too terrified to speak, Zazu nodded rapidly.

      Simba stirred in the cool morning air, feeling with a paw for his mother’s comforting presence. He opened an eye and glanced around. The awful truth dawned upon him that for the first time in his life, he was completely alone. As far as he could see all around was featureless sand.
      He rose, stretching, and groomed himself in the pre-dawn quiet, the slight rasp of his tongue the only sound in the stillness. Holding forth with an enormous yawn, he began padding slowly across the dunes, his tiny paws leaving a pockmarked trail in the pristine sand as he walked slowly but steadily, face turned towards the darkened western sky, the gentle breezes of twilight ruffling his fur and tickling his whiskers with cool fingers.
      But the cool did not last long. His shadow sprang into abrupt relief in front of him, harsh and outlined in red. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sun heaving its crimson bulk above the horizon. The temperature began to climb steadily as it rose higher in the sky, the cold dry winds becoming hot dry winds, the rays of the sun beginning to pierce him with anger and spite.
      On the second day of Simba’s journey, he fought new enemies. Tiredness, hunger, thirst, hopelessness. The one thought that kept him going was his faith that friends lay to the west.
      Panting in the dry air drained moisture from him. A sweat that did not cool him matted his fur and burned his eyes. He longed to feel firm earth beneath his feet again. The soft give of the sand made walking more difficult. His small feet scrabbled for purchase on even the smallest of dunes, and he had to struggle up one side, then slip down the other. He had daydreams about soft fragrant grass wet with morning dew, and stopping by the cistern to drink the cold, fresh water that collected from the rain.