Timon. “Don’t remind me.”

    “…but,” began Simba again, with a thoughtful expression, “if you two can make it to Rafiki, that would be great. I don’t know if he knows what’s about to happen. Plus… well, I’m sure we could use him in some way.”

    Timon only stared at Simba for quite some time, his gaze studying the young lion king. Finally, with a wink of encouragement, he leapt off Simba’s back and onto Pumbaa’s. “Fine. One crazy monkey, coming right up. Let’s go, buddy.”

    Simba watched them depart, the duo bounding down the side of the formation and into the savanna.  However, he did not watch Timon and Pumbaa leave down the side of Pride Rock, for his focus was instead rested upon a fissure in the stone surface just beyond where his friends had left.

    It was a lion, one which he had never seen in his life. Its black coat shone brightly against the sun, its mane even darker against the tan rock. It was beckoning him, wanting him to join it within or nearby the fissure. Its eyes, red-looking from afar, were by no means inviting, and yet Simba felt obligated to speak to it.

    “What is your name?” he called, stepping a few paces toward the fissure. “Come to me.”

    The lion shook its head, and beckoned again.

    “I say, traveler, come here! You do not understand the trouble my pride is in now. I must see you in the daylight.”

    But the lion was steadfast in its insistence on Simba coming to it rather than it coming to him. Again, it hurriedly beckoned, seemingly slipping deeper into the fissure, though Simba knew the crack to be shallow in stature, meaning therefore that the lion could not venture inside much further.

    “I will ask you one last time –”

    Another shake of its head. Another beckon.

    Simba roared soundly, eyes closed in roused frustration. He charged the lion, paws light against the dusty stone ground.

    “Simba!”

    The lion skidded to a halt and glanced to his left. Nala sat at the entrance of the cavern. She was worried, her expression seeming troubled. “What’s the matter?” she asked, puzzled.

    “An intruder!” cried Simba. “Look!” He pointed to the fissure in the surface.

    But when Nala looked to the spot, her expression became only more troubled – and Simba could see why immediately. Instead of a summoning, red-eyed black lion, there was nothing but a large crack in the stone.

    Wide-eyed confusion swept across Simba. He hurried to the spot. “No! No, no, he was here!” he exclaimed, searching within the fissure. “I promise you, Nala! Here!”

    “Simba! What is wrong?” came Sarabi’s voice. “Stop! Calm yourself.”

    The lion backed away from the crack, and his gaze fell upon the rest of the pride. Sarabi stood at its forefront, a stern look spread across her face.

    Simba was breathing heavily by that point, and it took quite a few moments for his muscles to unclench and for his breath to come back to him at a settling pace. Shaking his head once, he spoke: “I… I’m sorry, everyone, I must have been seeing things.” He turned to Sarabi. “Are we ready?”

    Sarabi said nothing. She studied her son with a teaching glare, scrutinizing every last spot upon his body, or so it seemed. Nala finally spoke for her. “Yes, we’re ready, Simba. Are you?”

    The king stood to his upmost posture and nodded, gulping once. “I am. Let us proceed.”

    “What is your plan?” called out Sarafina.

    Simba cursed himself internally. He had not any such plan of attack. He merely knew what had to be done, but not the way in which to do it.

    But somehow, he was able to keep his composure, or at least refrained from letting the lionesses on to his unpreparedness. “We’ll… we’ll send scouts ahead,” he said finally. “These scouts can tell us where the hyenas are, and we will formulate an ambush of sorts from there, if we can. Do we have any volunteers to do this?”

    Zira stepped forward. “I will,” she stated. “I know the land better than anyone we have left.” Ghasia and another lioness, Nyeupe, volunteered their service as well with nods of affirmation.

    “Good. Thank you. Go,” said Simba shortly. “Let us know what you see.” The lionesses were gone moments later, bounding down the side of Pride Rock and out into the savanna, north toward the Outlands.

    Simba turned to the remaining pride. “The rest of us… we’ll go now, too.  But slowly. Keep your wits about you, my friends. We cannot allow the hyenas to intimidate us. We will not lose this battle by losing our composure. Understood?”

    Receiving a silent assent from the remaining pride, Simba nodded to them. “Let’s go.”

    They walked in relative silence through the savanna, Simba at the group’s forefront. Sarabi was astride her son, speaking not a word at first, just as before. The ground was dirty beneath them, and muddy from the rain a few nights prior. Brown substances caked their paws and lower legs.

    “Simba,” spoke Sarabi finally, “there is something troubling you.”

    Simba shook his head. “No, mother,” he said. “There isn’t. Let’s not think about this now.”

    “But there is. There is, and I can tell it.”

    The lion could only sigh, and turn away from his mother. “It’s… it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m only worried for the well-being of the pride.”

    “We all are, and yet, we are not as flustered as you seem to be,” said Sarabi austerely. “And while I cannot determine what that is, know this – Simba, you must face your fears. Just because you are a king does not make you a great one. This is something you must become.”

    Nala listened to the conversation intently, hoping her friend would reveal that which was troubling him. She had seen into the fissure. There had been nothing there. She knew not what Simba had seen, and it worried her.

    “My son, I say this because I want you to be the best for this pride, not because I am angry or unbelieving in you,” Sarabi continued. “Whatever problems face you, you must put them aside now and focus on the task ahead. Become our king, Simba. Not just in name, but with Mufasa and the Great Kings as witness. Do this, do this in the name of glorious Aiheu, my son.”

    “Nbushe, I say, is all,” were Rafiki’s words in Simba’s mind at the mention of Aiheu. Nonetheless, he shoved the ranting of his shaman friend into the back of his mind for that moment, and nodded to Sarabi.

    “Yes, mother,” he said. “In the name of Aiheu.”

    Nearby, upon the promontory of Pride Rock, was a great black mist, hovering in an uncanny mess of shapes as it watched the lions depart.

END CHAPTER