nini mapigo yangu,” he sputtered, breaking into languages which Simba could not make out.

“Rafiki! Listen to me!”

“Nataka kumwambia lakini i hawawezi. Kwa nini, nbushe, kwa nini…” was the mandrill’s only response, but his voice was distant. Simba wanted desperately to stop him, to find out what the problem truly was, but the fit into which Rafiki had submerged was formidable. His limbs shook, his face contorting, expression pained. A trail of saliva formed at the corners of his mouth.

The Lion King moaned in anguish at what was happening to the shaman, the being who he most considered at that point his father figure. As he watched Rafiki’s fit, voices crowded his mind. Only you can save your people, they said. Do something before all fails.

An immense screech suddenly filled the air. Rafiki had froze, his arms spread to the sky, his head raised upward. The pupils of the mandrill’s eyes had vanished; only color remained.

“Simba, go! You are the key! Become!” Rafiki cried abruptly. And the shaman’s frame slackened as he fell to the ground.

Simba rushed ahead to meet Rafiki, to check on his dear friend, when another calling voice distracted him. “Simba!” yelled Nala. “Simba, come to me!”

The lion whipped around, seeing the lioness bounding toward him from the direction of Pride Rock. He hurriedly ran to her, his vision seemingly blurring by the second, blackness appearing at the sides of his gaze as he finally found his friend. He tried to speak, but no words came.

“Simba!” cried  Nala again, nuzzling the lion’s neck as she reached him. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Simba,” she spoke again. “Two lionesses ventured to the Outlands after Adhra’s report. Adhra followed them to bring them back. But she didn’t come back – they did. Oh, Adhra’s dead, Simba. The hyenas killed her. And they’re on their way here now!”


END