“Pumbaa, come ON,” Timon groaned. “The ground’s as dry as a bone, now; we’re not gonna find any more bugs out here.”
      “I don’t know...” Pumbaa’s voice was filled with doubt. “We found that beetle a little while ago, remember?”
      “‘A little while ago?!’ That was two hours ago! I’m fried!” Timon continued to gripe as the foraged listlessly among the cracked and dried flats. A brief rain had sprung up this morning, the dry ground greedily soaking up the moisture and driving the insects out in droves. The meerkat and warthog had delighted in this banquet, at least until the sun emerged again. The insects had vanished with the water, the ground drying into the haphazard mosaic that lay before them, baked hard now in the glaring sun.
      Sighing, Timon leaned down to try again when faint movement caught his eyes. He skittered up Pumbaa’s back to perch atop his head, shading his eyes in the glare.
      “H-Hey!” Pumbaa, laughed. “That tickles!”
      “Hush!” Timon squinted. “A-HA! Buzzards!”
      Pumbaa grimaced. “Ewww! I hate buzzards.”
      “Pumbaa!” Timon tapped his friend’s head reproachfully. “We do not speak ill of those who might show us where to find some goodies.”
      “Huh?”
      “They might be giving us a pointer on where we might locate a leftover culinary delight!” Timon’s stomach growled in anticipation.
      “Awwww!” Pumbaa looked downcast. “I was hoping they might show us where to find some food.”
      The meerkat sighed. “Just head thataway.”
      Pumbaa trotted off obligingly, heading towards the circling birds, who were beginning to descend, a sure sign that whatever they had been stalking was about to expire. Fresh meat! Timon shook the rough mane on Pumbaa’s shoulders with glee. “Oh boy oh boy! We’re gonna eat right today, pal, just you wait!”
      Pumbaa halted suddenly, nearly sending Timon overboard. “Why do I have to wait?! Who says YOU eat first?!”
      “No, no! Just forget it and head for the buzzards before they get the good stuff!” Timon seized Pumbaa’s ears and flicked them, kicking his heels into the warthog’s neck. “YAHHHH!!!”
      Pumbaa accelerated, a horrendous war cry of his own issuing from his mouth as the two charged into the pack of jostling birds, sending them scattering in disarray, feathers flying as they squawked an indignant protest back at the two. Ignoring this, the duo checked around themselves for any malingerers, then relaxed, Timon chuckling at the sight.
      “I love it!” Pumbaa snorted in mirth. “Bowling for buzzards!”
      Timon guffawed. “Gets ‘em every time!” He proceeded to brush himself off as Pumbaa examined the carcass that lay at their feet. “Uh-oh. Hey Timon! You better come look. I think it’s still alive.”
      The meerkat drew up involuntarily. “Yeesh!” Steeling himself, he meandered over, trying to look nonchalant. After all, Pumbaa WAS watching.
      “Allrighty, whatta we got here?” Bending low, he sniffed the air carefully. The scent filled his nostrils; something exotic, but vaguely familiar. But alive, he could tell that much. Shrugging, he wriggled under the paw that covered the creature’s face and strained, lifting...
      ...and saw the soft furry features, the whiskers, and the tip of one ivory fang protruding over the lower lip. His blood ran cold as he dropped the paw, staggering back in terror.
      “Jeez, it’s a LION!”

      “I knew it. I just knew it!” Timon said with disgust. “I knew if we carried him to water, you’d want to feed him. And if you fed him, you’d want to keep him. Do you know what lion cubs do? Huh, DO you??”
      Pumbaa looked at Timon with mist in his gazelle eyes. “No, Timon. What do they do?”
      “They get bigger. It doesn’t happen all at once, see, but one day you’ll wake up....” He straddled and expanded to make his point. “....and there will be this greaaat biiiig lion as far as the eyes can see! He won’t be little and cute then, but he’ll still be our problem.”
      “Keep it down, Timon. He’ll hear you!”
      Timon glanced around anxiously. “Yeah. And I bet he’s hungry, too!”
      “Now there you go again! He’s only a little kid, and he’s so sad and lost and helpless!” Tears began to spring up in Pumbaa’s eyes. “Just because you’re smarter than I am doesn’t mean you’re always right. I mean, not always, you know.”
      “And I suppose you got it all figured out?”
      “No. But while we’re wasting time figuring it all out, that little guy needs our help!”
      Once in a while Pumbaa said something that made Timon stand up and take note. “All right. Answer me this, then. Let’s say we keep him. Down, Pumbaa, I said IF we keep him, what will he eat?”
      Tears misted up in Pumbaa’s eyes again. “If we DON’T keep him, what will he eat?” A tear ran down the warthog’s cheek. “I gotta live with myself, Timon. Don’t make me choose between you and him. Please??”
      “You can’t walk out on me!”
      “I can’t walk out on him!”
      Adopting a lion cub was a big decision, and it took Pumbaa a lot of discussion and a great deal of pouting to overcome Timon’s reluctance. What Aiheu did not give the warthog in eloquent speech, he made up for in sheer determination. And when Pumbaa really made up his mind and looked at Timon with his gazelle eyes, he usually got his way.
      All in all, the benefits outweighed the disadvantages, Pumbaa figured; they would have to raise a youngster (a task Timon especially loathed), but the return on their investment would be enormous. Simba would make a terrific bodyguard and a good friend. Besides, Timon would not have to endure Pumbaa’s pleading looks.
      “OK,” Timon said at last. “I’m going to regret this, but we’ll keep the kid.”
      “Hooray!!”
      The advantages of such a relationship were obvious, and the two readily fell to in making the cub feel right at home.
      Simba, however, had no such preconceptions. He embraced the carefree lifestyle of “Hakuna Matata” the two preached of, somewhat reluctant at first, but more and more easily as the day wore on. It was difficult to overcome the inhibitions his parents had instilled in him; he found it hard to accept the fact that he was pretty much free to do what he pleased, eat what he pleased...even the simplest of niceties were not required. The first time he belched and covered his mouth with a paw, saying “Excuse me!” with a horrified expression on his face, Timon had gone into gales of laughter.
      The cub reflected on this as he lay on his back, paws outstretched, rubbing one ear lazily as he blinked in the late afternoon sun. He tracked its progress, half interested, thinking it was funny how much the sun looked just as it did when he had been at home.
      Home.
      He rubbed the fur on his belly uncomfortably, remembering sitting next to Sarabi, her warm tongue bathing him as he lay beside her, sated from his last meal, watching the same sun go down in the Pride Lands. He watched as the fiery orb doubled, then trebled in his vision as quiet tears ran down his cheeks. His heart sank along with the sun, his spirits falling and turning dark with the sky around him. The stars made their appearances one by one, standing stalwart against the night, but no such light remained in Simba’s soul. Sniffing quietly, he tilted his head back to look at the depthless expanse of the universe above.
      “God? I don’t know if you feel like listening to me...but I wanted to ask a favor.” His jaw trembled, and his face drew down in deep lines as he struggled to keep control. “Would you please watch out for my pride? I mean, Uncle Scar isn’t that strong and he has that bad back...he needs help. And help Aunt Uzuri catch a lot of food so Nala doesn’t get hungry or anything.” Despite his struggles, he began to cry again, his voice wavering unsteadily as he rushed to finish. “And watch out for Mom, okay? And if you can...please tell her...I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” His head fell forward and he buried it under his forepaws, shaking with the terrible force of his grief.
      A sharp trill sang from the grass next to him, and he jumped, crying out as he backed away. A second trill answered, and son the grass was full of the droning sound of crickets, humming away busily as they sang their strange calls to one another. Fire blossomed in the grass as a small white glow emerged, flitting about aimlessly. Simba twirled in agitation as he was suddenly surrounded by dozens of tiny points of light, miniature suns that gleamed with a cold brilliance. The fireflies darted about his head, one alighting on his nose and jittering frenziedly as it signaled its fellows. The cub yelped in fear, jumping up and running across the clearing to the cover of the nearby bushes where Timon and Pumbaa were making themselves comfortable for the night’s slumber.
      Pumbaa saw him scamper in, shaking furiously. “What’s the matter, Simba?”
      “I’m scared!” he burst out. “I wanna go home!”
      “Aww, man...” Timon groaned.
      Pumbaa shushed him sternly, then turned back to the terrified cub. “C’mon, little fella. Just lie down and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
      “I CAN’T sleep! Those THINGS’ll get me!” Simba ran over to Pumbaa and huddled against his comforting bulk, shivering as he stared at the dark jungle around them, seeing movement in every shadow.
      “Poor kid.” Pumbaa grunted unhappily. “Scared of the dark?”
      Simba nodded.
      “Huh! Me too! But ya know what?”
      “What?”
      “My mom used to tell me stories to help me get to sleep, and I remember ‘em all! Wanna hear one?”
      Simba nodded, wide eyed, and settled in close, much to Pumbaa’s surprise. “Would you tell me one? Please?”
      “Sure. Let me see...” Pumbaa grimaced, thinking hard, then smiled. “Oh yeah! This one was my favorite.
      “Once there was a great leader among the elephants. His name was Mongo Earthshaker because he was so big that when he walked you could feel the ground shake. Well one day Mongo was so thirsty that he ran down to the watering hole, even though he had hurt his leg only three days before. His mate Zesta warned him that he was headed for trouble because of his leg, but he hurried anyway. Well, the water was so cool and refreshing that when he drank it he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Then he went back to his friends.”
      “Then what happened?”
      “How should I know? That’s the end of the story. But there is another one about him that tells about the time he took a mud bath. You’ll never guess how it ends!”
      “He cooled off, didn’t he?”
      “Darn! You’ve heard it already.” Pumbaa looked alarmingly at Simba’s dour expression and put a foreleg around the cub. “Look here, little guy. You lay next to me. If you’re afraid, don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”
      Simba looked at him a moment longer, then lay his head down, pressing his nose into Pumbaa’s side, trying to blot out as much of the world as he could. The gentle tides of Pumbaa’s breathing and the steady thrum of his heart lulled the exhausted cub, pulling him into a much needed sleep.
      Pumbaa sat quiet until he was sure Simba had dropped off, then lay his own head down. Eyes drooping, he began to slide away into sleep’s embrace until a sudden motion from the cub brought him back to sharp wakefulness. Glancing down, he saw Simba’s paws twitching restlessly, soft moans escaping his lips and chilling the warthog with their intensity.
      “Uncle Scar? I’m sorry...din’t mean it.” He shuffled restlessly again. “Accident...what’m I gonna do? Mom?” Pumbaa grunted with pain as the cub kicked abruptly, crying out in the dark stillness. “Dad! No!”
      Pumbaa nuzzled him helplessly, uncertain of what to do, and was relieved to see Simba quiet down at the touch, forepaws reaching out in his sleep and making contact with the warthog’s side, claws kneading him slightly in a long forgotten reflex. Pumbaa endured the discomfort, gazing at the cub thoughtfully as the night passed, until Simba dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

      Meanwhile Fabana, Shenzi and Banzai moved among the hyenas. They spread the word to all: “Important Clan meeting at high moon. Attendance is required.”
      Amarakh was having a playful wrestling bout with her husband when Ber came by. “Roh’mach, do you have a moment?”
      She looked up, peeved. “Can’t I have a life of my own?”
      “I’m sorry, My Lady. I’ll ask you tonight at the clan meeting.”
      “I didn’t call a clan meeting.”
      “Well everyone else says you did. And that it’s very important.”
      “Who told you?”
      “Fabana.”
      Amarakh sighed, kissed her husband, and said, “I’ll be back in a minute. Remember where we were.”
      The Roh’mach went around looking for Fabana. She expected to trace down the source of the rumor and find out who dared to mock her. She was in for a great surprise when she finally found Fabana.
      “Fay, what’s this about a clan meeting? Who told you?”
      Fabana straightened with pride. “Roh’kash herself.”
      “What??” Amarakh’s hackles raised. “Let me scratch my ears. I must have wax in them.”
      “No, My Lady. Tonight at high moon, The Lord herself is going to address us on a matter of great importance.”
      “If you say so,” Amarakh said dubiously. “Let’s just say I hope She shows up for your sake. Otherwise, I’m going to be pretty put out with you, hon.” She softened her tone. “I know it’s been hard on you raising that family of yours alone. Especially the way Jal died. I’ll think of something important to say. Maybe I’ll just make something up. I don’t want you being made a fool of. We’ll discuss this later, OK?”
      “I’m not seeing things. There are witnesses. Shenzi, Banzai and Ed all saw her.”
      “Look, Fay. We’ve been friends all our lives. But this is ridiculous. You go around promising God to these folks, all I can say is you had better deliver!”
      There was a large pointed crag in the elephant graveyard called Makh’pil Baru, or “Moon Claw,” for at exactly high moon the shadow of its point would touch a boulder named Ul Khalil, or “The Springhare.” In living memory it had always been the signal to start a clan meeting.
      Also by long custom, the Roh’mach did not discuss business before mid moon. Everyone usually had some idea what was going to be covered in advance, and this time as always there were rumors being spread through the crowd. Amarakh politely turned away questions, but she was clearly uncomfortable.
      “It’s not too late,” she whispered to Fabana. “Please don’t go through with this. I’m trying to help you. You know I’m your friend.”
      “I know.”
      “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
      “Just wait. You’ll see.”
      The dance of the heavenly bodies was progressing. The point of the shadow drew close to Ul Khalil. By then, everyone was in a state of great anticipation.
      Amarakh was silent, her mind working quickly to think of something to say. Shenzi was looking rather smug, certain that what happened would be the crowning glory of her short life. Banzai was proud of his sister and sat erect, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and looking gravely serious, trying not to grin broadly. Ed, as always, was Ed.
      The point of the shadow crept to the edge of the rock. As everyone watched with bated breath, the black triangle crept across the stone and finally reached the exact center.
      The quiet was unearthly. No one spoke or even dared to move.
      Then the shadow passed the center of the stone and approached the far side.
      “Thank you for coming,” Amarakh said. “My main reason in calling you here was to sort out a crime that had been committed against one of our prominent families. But since the guilty party has confessed and agreed to make reparations, I think it wise not to dredge it up again.”
      “Who, Roh’mach?” someone asked.
      “I prefer not to say.”
      “Was that it?” another one asked.
      “Pretty much. The wildebeest herd is on the move again, but most of you know that by now. I’m sorry the hunt had to be spoiled by this little fiasco.”
      “When is God coming?” one of the females asked.
      “Yes, when is she coming, Amarakh?” Korg asked.
      “We were told God was coming!” Ber said. “So where is she??”
      “Who said God was coming??”
      A clamor arose. Clearly, there were a lot of disappointed hyenas who were not sure who to be upset with, but Amarakh was as good a target as any.
      “Calm down everyone,” the Roh’mach said. “We’ll all see Roh’kash at the moment of our death. Think, all of you! Think! Why would God want to call a clan meeting with us? It makes no sense!”
      Amarakh was suddenly aware of her shadow grow long and prominent before her, a great golden light filling the air around her with luminance and bathing the hyenas before her as they fell to the ground, ears flattened back and heads between paws. Amarakh trembled. She swallowed hard and turned around....
      “Roh’kash!!” The Roh’mach fell to the ground and howled in fear. “Mercy! Mercy, Lord!”
      Melmokh came to her in the form of a beautiful hyena. “You question my decision, Amarakh?” said a sweet voice. “I will not harm you. Still, you are no longer Roh’mach.”
      “Why, my Lord? Have I not always worshipped you faithfully?”
      “Not for your impiety, for there is no quarrel between us. I have given that title to the daughter of the prophesy. Shenzi was anointed from birth to deliver your people from bondage, and her path shall you follow.”
      Amarakh rolled over and pawed at the false Roh’kash. “Even so, my Lord. Even so! I hail Shenzi, the Lord’s anointed!”
      The other hyenas cried, “Hail Shenzi, the Lord’s anointed!”
      Melmokh went through the crowd. At first they parted before him, but after he touched lame Pashond and healed him, the other hyenas began to crowd in on their Roh’kash, seeking blessings and the occasional coveted kiss.
      “Hear my words,” the false Roh’kash cried. “I have come to liberate you through my servant Shenzi. But if you are to be worthy of her and of me, you must be disciplined. You must be sober in judgment. You must be willing to make sacrifices.”
      “Even so!” hyenas shouted. “Even so!”

      After the presentation, Melmokh saw his opportunity to move in and establish himself as he never could with Gur’mekh.
      As Roh’kash, he took Shenzi apart from the crowd to be alone with him. The two of them went along to a cave far from the others.
      “You are my anointed, and I have brought you here to confirm our relationship and bond us together forever.”
      Shenzi bowed before Roh’kash. “Even so, Great Mother.”
      Melmokh laughed prettily. “You do not need to bow before me. I do not want your service but your companionship. Do you not know that I have sought you out to rule beside me?”
      “To rule beside you?”
      “Yes. As my mate.” The false Roh’kash rubbed her down her full length. The sexual meaning was not lost on Shenzi, and she froze in terror.
      “You quake, my little one. Do you not know that I am both Roh’kash and Roh’khim? The Great Mother and the Great Father? They are different aspects of the same God. Behold the one who courts your affections!”
      Melmokh revealed himself to her, though his evil heart was disguised with the beauty of golden light that wrapped him like a mantle. “Is this more to your liking?”
      “Oh!”
      He was musky and handsome, and the gleam in his eyes was hypnotic. She stared at him spellbound. He began to nuzzle her lightly around her face, kissing her passionately beside the eyes and under the corners of her twitching mouth. “You fill me with every wholesome desire,” he purred. “Our love could last the centuries. I can please you the way you were born to be pleased, and you will please me too.” He began to nuzzle her neck and her trembling shoulders. “I’m on fire, child. Give yourself to me freely, not because I command it, but because you want it. Only if you call me of your own free will, for I will not force myself upon you.”
      She did not answer him, but she stood her ground when he rubbed her along her length, and from her throat escaped a low whimper as her jaw trembled. She gave herself willingly, and in doing so became truly his. As the death of Demrath bound Gur’mekh to him, so her intimacy bound her to him. But he had no desire to torment her. Far from it.
      There in the darkness, Melmokh made love with her. And there in the darkness he forged a bond with her that would make her his. For it was his wish that she would one day conceive a child who would become the physical presence of Melmokh, a body through which he could fully enter the world of Ma’at and have his way unobstructed by time and space.
      Of course, he neglected to tell her that.

      Melmokh banned private prayer, asking instead for the hyenas to come directly into the presence of their God and speak their mind. He appeared on Ul Khalil rock each night at high moon in the form of a beautiful female hyena, speaking softly and with an outward kindness that hid the blasphemous, dark purpose of his plans.
      Though many were convinced that God was among them, others were not so easily swayed. Ber and a lot of the intellectuals saw something strange with the new doctrines of the false Roh'kash. They relied on their faith instead of what their eyes told them, and in this regard they could peer through chinks in the armor of Melmokh.
      This small group held a secret prayer vigil each night while the others were paying homage to the demon. Once when Ber was lying on his back in the depths of prayer, he called upon Roh’kash in tones that melted the hearts of those who heard him as perspiration broke on him and his fur matted.
      “Almighty mother whose gentleness is like the sunrise, your broken remnant looks to you for deliverance. Is there no word for us? Is there no truth that we must be subject to the lies of traitors and blasphemers? My life for a word. My life for one word of truth to leave behind with these poor souls that love you!”
      There was a smell of jasmine, and a soft golden light. To Ber’s surprise, the lithe, graceful form of a beautiful white lioness emerged. A deep purr emanated from her as she regarded him benevolently, her tail stirring restlessly as she spoke.
      “Ber, my child, do not listen to the lies of the demon Melmokh who claims to be God. The true God has heard your prayers. There will be night before the dawn, but even in the night there are stars that shine. Be brave, my child.”
      The lioness quickly kissed Ber on the cheek, then dematerialized as quickly as she came.
      Ber got up, rubbed his cheek with a paw, than said, “Quick, hide! We are not safe here!”
      The dissenters hurried away to the caves, and none too soon, for a fierce female hyena came hurtling in. She nosed about quickly, trying to smell the tracks and identify who was there, but the only scent to be had was that of jasmine. “Damn you, Minshasa! Stay out of here! This is MY land! I was invited here! This is MINE and you can’t have it back!”
      For a brief moment, the false Roh’kash rippled and changed, becoming a furious, seething male. Looking around with eyes shining red as coals, Melmokh peered into the surrounding grass and rocks looking for those who dared discover his secret. But the lioness had sent a brisk wind that swept the tracks away without a trace. “Come back, and I’ll kill you!” he said in a voice that tore at the air, making the very stones in the earth tremble and vibrate with its guttural fury. “One on one, you meddlesome witch! See if you’re so strong when it’s just you and me!!”
      Ber and his intellectuals and the gentle-minded formed a sort of clan within a clan, which got the informal name of The Omlakhs, "the different ones." They prayed to Roh’kash and to the white lioness in a different place each night, sang the ancient hymns and worked to keep the spirit of their faith alive in the descending spiritual darkness.
      The temptation to follow a visible god who worked miracles was too strong for most of them. They believed whatever the false Roh’kash told them, losing the purity of their faith to the new doctrines of Melmokh, doctrines that sentenced his enemies to a horrible death. Ber and his group continued to worship as their heart told them, holding to the ideals of fairness and freedom that underpinned the old faith and gave it true meaning. Eventually brothers in the same family split over this issue. The Omlakhs kept strict secrecy, terrified of what would happen if someone betrayed them.
      While not a terrorist organization, under the leadership of Ber, the Omlakhs did try in subtle ways to subvert the will of the Makei. And for this they ended up becoming persecuted.
      Finally one of their number was found out. A female named Belvalen was trapped and condemned by the false Roh’kash to be tortured to death. For it was Melmokh’s wish to snare other Omlakhs.
      Melmokh made it a test of loyalty that each member of the clan bite her hard enough to draw blood and make her scream. Some of the hyenas were loyal to the false Roh’kash, but they felt cold shudders to pierce the hide of the young female. Melmokh, sensing this, kissed each of the hyenas that bit her.
      Den’beer was coming up in the line. He shuddered, knowing that he could not hurt her. Of course he knew that he would be given away, and not only die but be used to trap other Omlakhs who would have to torture HIM. He thought of a desperate plan in that moment. He knew that the only hope for his people was something that Melmokh did not understand--an act of profound love.
      Belvalen was crouched in the niche where she had been held prisoner, the forbidding rock walls preventing her escape. She cringed as a blast of steam belched from the thermal vent beside her, bathing her in its gusty breath and making her break out in a sweat which was not entirely due to the heat. She shook with the pain of the wounds that had been inflicted on her body, her blood running down her sides in fine streams to pool near the lip of the cauldron next to her, bubbling and hissing as it emitted a hot coppery odor. Her limbs trembled from fear and the loss of blood, and she prayed that the pain would end soon.
      Her heart sank as the next hyena in line stepped forward. Skulk came up and without hesitation inflicted a severe bite to her flank that made her shriek with agony. Her cry of pain shook Den’beer to the core. “Enough!” he thought. “It ends here!”
      Now all eyes were on Den’beer. Mortally wounded but still terrified, Belvalen looked at him pleadingly. He smiled sweetly at her. “I love you, Belvalen! Let us greet the true God together!”
      Relief flooded her face, and she smiled back. “Yes! Come to me!”
      Before anyone could stop him, he ran to her, ramming into her and bearing her with him into the thermal vent, disappearing into the depths without a sound.
      In that brief moment, Shimbekh, who could not bear to look at the vent, turned away, her gaze coming to rest on the face of the one she worshipped. Her blood froze as she saw the face of Roh’kash horribly distorted in rage, the features actually running as though seen through a haze of rain, the warm amber eyes turned to crimson points of fire that blazed with wrath. Seconds later, the Mother of All’s face returned to normal, and she bowed her head in sadness. “Such is the fate of all those who would not tread the path of righteousness,” she intoned sadly. “Let us pray for their souls.”
      Shimbekh trembled as she bowed her head along with the others. How could the true God possess any evil qualities?? She had heard some disturbing rumors flitting about the clan, and some of the feelings she picked up from the hyenas around her did nothing to ease her disquiet. She resolved to speak with Ber at mid moon and find out just what was going on in her troubled family. Putting the thought aside, she turned inwards as the droning monotone of the prayer continued around her. Unbidden, the image of Roh’kash sprang to mind again, her normally beatific features now grossly twisted in a mask of hate.
      She suddenly found that the soul she was praying for was her own.

      Simba pranced delightedly about the muddy path, splashing the water with his big paws and laughing at the pretty rainbows they made in the air, the droplets catching the light in an explosion of color before they fell back to earth.