wasn’t a good sign, and he diagnosed Weusi with an incurable problem. She was dying, and with the pain being so bad that she couldn’t see straight, Rafiki said she would have a week at most. Weusi was half surprised and relieved. It was as if she wanted it to happen.

            She told the pride, and many of them, including the Regents, were surprised and upset at the news. Dailia, although sad in her own way, was relieved. She would miss her mother, but also knew that she would no longer be suffering and neither would her or her sister.

            Hasira had mixed emotions, but they were all the same. She was glad! The cave was theirs now, and she wouldn’t have to be beaten day in and day out for no good reason. In Hasira’s eyes this was a miracle. Unlike her sister, Hasira never spent her mother’s last days with her. She felt that if they were in the same area, Hasira would kill her, as she wanted to do many times.

            A week later, Weusi passed away in her sleep. The pride mourned, and Kovu and Kiara gave a kind speech. They knew Weusi was a terrible mother but she was part of the pride and deserved the respect all dead deserved. Dailia cried softly on Kadiri’s shoulder, but Hasira remained emotionless. She kept her eyes on Baraka. She hoped to be become his mate. She still felt that it was him and his kind words that made her believe she had a reason for living, a reason to at last prove to her now deceased mother that she was not a disappointment or a mistake.

            But she was still angry. Even with her mother gone, she was not about to change her name. Because of the way her mother treated her, almost killed her on several occasions, she would always live up to her name as her sister did and act out on it.

            And if Baraka would ever admit that he had feelings for her, her life would have some meaning.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Akase looked to the side. She had a feeling he’d find her. “But why did he bring Njozi?” she asked herself. Finally, she faced her mate and daughter. She tried a smile.

            “Hi, Njozi, what brings you here with your dad?”

            The young princess pawed the grass, trying to form the words. It was time. She couldn’t keep this forever. Sighing, Njozi looked up at her mother and prayed she wouldn’t cry. Seeing her mother was hard enough.

            “W-well, Mom, I asked Dad to bring me here. I have something I need to tell you.” Shyly, she turned her eyes to Arif. Her father only smiled but in his eyes she could see worry. Turning back to her mother, she drew in a breath.

            Akase was confused. What on earth did Njozi have to say that Arif was with her? “What is it, Njozi?” she asked.

            Before the cub could speak, Arif spoke, keeping his voice as calm. “Akase, I kindly suggest that you not speak and listen to her.” He saw Akase’s eyes narrow and sighed inwardly. This would not be easy. “Okay, Njozi.”

            Njozi nodded, drawing in another breath. At a lengthy pause, she spoke.

            Arif sat down, watching Akase and listening to his daughter’s words, which twirled through his head. He remembered feeling like this when she first told him. But unlike his mate, he did not have a bad reaction. He’d pictured Njozi’s dreams in his mind. He saw everything she saw, heard every word she heard. Everything was so crisp and so clear that he felt he had lived it just as she had. That thought alone was a little scary, but he was not about to call his daughter a liar or a fool, which he sensed Akase would when Njozi was finished. What struck Arif hard the most was that even though he and Akase were fighting, and now separated, was that Njozi’s dreams foretold it before it happened. The question was, why? Why would his cub, his own flesh and blood, have dreams that could be prophetic?

            To Arif it seemed his burden of carrying a message had become Njozi’s burden too, but not in the way he expected. She really was like him. He had a burden about the Pridelands’ future, and she had a burden about his future with Akase, her own parents.

            He closed his eyes, feeling tears, but he forced them away as his daughter finished. He looked up.

            “So, Mom, please return with Dad and me. Come and see Adabu and Adisa. They miss you. Grandma and Grandpa miss you. Uncle Baraka misses you. We all miss you.” Njozi panted for breath. She sat down, breathing heavily. She felt her father sit down beside her. She put her head into his foreleg and Arif addressed his mate.

            “It’s time for you to decide, Akase. I have not abandoned my family, you have. Njozi’s dreams are nearly prophetic. They’re coming true.” Arif stopped, feeling tense.

            Akase stood still. She didn’t speak, but instead turned away. Arif and Njozi looked at each other. Finally, the lioness spoke but not in words. She laughed. The sounds echoed across the clearing. The animals nearby lifted their heads, confused, but after a while they returned to their routines of eating the grass and drinking water from the waterholes.

            The adult Prince and the young Princess didn’t move. The laughter rang in their ears. It was mocking.

            Arif felt his mouth curl into a soft snarl. “Why are you laughing, Akase?” he asked.

            She chuckled. “You know why, Arif.” Slowly, she turned. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?” She stifled another laugh. “First, you say you have a message that you cannot speak and the next our daughter begins having dreams about us, about our fights, and where they may lead if things don’t change?”

            Arif would’ve spoken, but Njozi spoke instead. “You don’t believe us, Mom? You don’t believe me?”

            “I… It’s not that I don’t, sweetheart, it’s just… a little hard to accept…”

            Njozi bowed her head sadly. She saw that coming. So did Arif, and he was far from happy. He sympathized with his daughter. If it had been Adabu or Adisa with Njozi’s gift of foresight, he’d sympathize with them too. They were his children. And hers too, Arif thought. He looked down at Njozi. “Njozi, I need to talk to your mother privately. Can you stay here?”

            Choking back a disappointed sob, the princess, after wiping her eyes with a paw, met eyes with her father. She nodded.

            Arif smiled kindly, nuzzled her and walked up to Akase. The look on his face told her that he needed to speak with her alone. With a frustrated groan, the lioness followed. Njozi watched them, her heart breaking. She lay down in the grass, but watched her parents leave.

            In the depths of his heart, the shaman knew his daughter was watching. He forced his worry for her into his stomach. Finally, he turned to Akase, his red eyes burning with surprise and anger.

            “I take it a dream being a little hard to accept is far worse than not being able to accept my message carrying, huh?” he started. He didn’t care if he was rude. She was rude first, but not to him, to Njozi.

            Akase rolled her eyes. He had to bring that up. “That’s different, Arif. She told me about her dream. You didn’t tell me anything of your message. But that’s right, I forgot. You’re bound by shaman law!”

            “It’s not different at all,” Arif replied. “You seemed open enough to listen. She just wanted you to know.”

            “You talked her into it, didn’t you?”

            “What?”

            “This and coming here…”

            “No. It was