There is a line. Above it, part of a glowing orb disappears. Below it, long fingers of the coming night stretch and tap the denizens of the Pridelands. The touch means sleep for some; for others, it is just the beginning. Movements slow and amplify in the shrinking hours as the dance of darkness begins. Along the soft floor, three shadows dance merrily about in a frolic of pleasure near a resting herd of zebra. It has been a long day, but a fair one. These less important hours are a bit lighter, perhaps without warrant.

Nala gave a cry of surprise as Simba tackled her to the ground. While the two giggled and rolled about in an unending battle for pounce supremacy, the mandrill alongside them looked on with a smile. He chose not to participate in the battle, but the outcome was common enough for him to anticipate the coming end. It arrived with a dramatic *THUD*.

“Ha!” Nala laughed, “Pinned ya again!” And the two would giggle together, so much in love. As usual, the losing partner would make his excuses, never using the same one each time.

“Aww, I let you win love!” Simba said, grinning mischievously, “You know that right?”

“Oh sure,” Nala said, giving his cheek a lick, “except that you never beat me Simba.” Nala released him and the lion rolled to his paws. Shaking off and regaining a piece of his playfully shattered dignity, he head-butted the lioness playfully.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll bet that I can do lots of things better than you.”

“Like sleep, and eat, and sleep some more?” Rafiki chimed in, precisely on cue. Nala just laughed as Simba gave an embarrassed chuckle.

“Oh you really think that huh?” He asked, partially curious at Rafiki’s observation. The mandrill only grinned at him.

“You are the king! Unless there is some little talent that you’ve been hiding from us all this time.” Simba smiled at Rafiki, who got a surprise whisper from Nala that sent him into hysterical laughing. The lion blinked.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well,” chuckled the mandrill, not seeing Nala’s emphatic gesture to keep quiet, “the dear lioness was just telling me about what you do with your tail when you sleep.” Simba blinked rapidly and looked at Nala, who was now blushing fiercely under her fur.

“Nala!” he cried out, very much embarrassed. The lioness could only giggle a little. Among the lionesses, Simba was known as a striker. Meaning that his tail quite often would rise like a snake in the night, and strike the nearest lioness. The scale in the back usually would wake the lioness with a yip, causing the whole pride to jump up. And Simba, still sleeping through it all, would suddenly be embarrassed to find the entire pride staring at his tail, which would innocently enough play dead at that convenient moment.

“Well, you ARE good at it.” This response from Nala only sent Rafiki into more laughing, and he leaned heavily on his stick to keep from falling down. Simba, now thoroughly mortified, just gazed at Nala incredulously. Seeing what she had done, she padded closer to Simba, nuzzling him under his chin with a patronizing purr, “Aww, I’m sorry dear. It was just a funny thing that popped into my head.” To her surprise, Simba pulled away.

“Well,” he started, sounding a bit hurt, “There are plenty of things I can do just fine. I’ll bet I can even hunt better than you, Nala.” Nala looked concerned at the sound of his voice, but tried to hide it. Giving Rafiki a stern look to calm down his inane giggles, she moved forward to cheekrub Simba again.

“I know you’re good love,” she purred sweetly, “you have nothing to prove to me.” Simba looked somewhat pleased at her response, but still determined.

“Of course I don’t,” he said softly, licking his mate back with a deep sound, “but just to show you I can do it, I’m going to get a zebra for us.” Nala appeared jolted, not sure about Simba going on a solo hunt. Although she had as much faith in him as any lioness could have in their mate, she had to doubt his hunting skills because of his inexperience, not to mention his size.

“Simba,” she pleaded, “you really don’t have to do this.” Simba pawed her gently on the shoulder, giving her his classic ‘devil may care’ look.

“I’ll be fine.” he said, confident in himself. “Trust me.” Nala gave him a little lick on his left shoulder as he passed into the lengthening shadows. The lioness sighed audibly, glancing to the third observer. Rafiki stood by her, silent and pensive.

“An odd proposition. An inexperienced lion hunting better than the hunt mistress.” he commented in a sagely tone. Nala nodded her head silently. Logic told her that she was the better hunter. She was the hunt mistress after all, not to mention that her form was made for hunting. Agility, strength, cunning, and a lighter body weight made her the perfect instrument of the hunt. However, she knew wisely that Simba’s lack of the last characteristic, and a whole lot less experience made it a dangerous thing for him to attempt. The two stood still, shoulder to shoulder, not wanting to upset the zebra into any motion that could possibly harm the stalking lion.

“This is crazy.” Simba thought to himself. The same analysis that Nala contemplated passed through his mind as well. Large and inexperienced continued to pop up in his head. He had nothing to prove. Zebra or none, Nala would love him, Rafiki would help him, and the pridelands would never question it. Why go on a hunt just to show them something?

“It’s a matter of principle.” Simba told himself, “If I can’t hunt then I’m not fit to lead the pride. What if they needed my help? A king has to be an all around player.” Sufficiently justifying his actions to himself, he began to scan the crowd of stripes. Logic told him to go for something easy, a calf or an infirm zebra. However, the darkening skies concealed the true sizes of his prey. Choosing what he thought to be the ideal target, he prepared himself for the attack.

The zebra would remember it as the worst moments of its life. There she was, fat, contented, and grazing peacefully when suddenly, the savanna came to life as a massive beast of tawny fur. She sprinted, hoping to outrun the deadly thing that wanted her life. But it closed quickly, quicker than she ever expected from such a large animal. Panting, heart racing, and running as fast as she could, she prayed that the end would be swift and began to resign herself to her fate.

Then, she felt the left paw of the thing caught on her back flanks. Cold panic raced into her mind and in a swift motion, she kicked high with her leg, catching the paw squarely and knocking it away as it reached up for her. There was a sudden roar that overpowered the heartdrum in her ears. A roar, which at the moment, seemed the most vicious sound she had ever heard in her life. She ran on, not stopping until she was assured that her hooffalls was the only sound being made. Looking around, the misty view from her tear filled eyes indicated that there was nothing there. Her fear slowly subsided, and if not for the claw marks on the back of her haunches, she would have sworn it was all in her mind.

“SIMBA!!” was the cry from Nala as she raced over to him followed rapidly by Rafiki. The lion writhed, lying on his right side. His repeated moans and whimperings panicked Nala to no end as she paced worriedly from side to side. “Simba! Simba! are you okay?”

“My shoulder Nala,” he groaned, through much effort, “its on fire! Make it stop!” Rafiki quickly moved in, looking him over. Nala bent over and licked his face.

“Shhh, shhh, it will be okay.” she cooed, rapidly glancing to Rafiki for agreement. The mandrill appeared puzzled at first. After checking him out thoroughly, he could see no blood, no bruises and his movements certainly mean that his muscles were fine. However an odd bulge positioned at his left shoulder made him curious.

“You say it’s your shoulder Simba?” he asked. A rapid head movement from Simba, along with a sharp cry of pain indicated it true. Rafiki placed a hand on his shoulder, eliciting a fresh agonized cry from Simba. Nala stared at the mandrill icily.

“You’re hurting him!” she scolded.

“Keep him calm,” Rafiki instructed, “everything will feel right in a moment.” Nala nodded, turning her attentions back to Simba’s head with licks and nuzzles. Tears began to form in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry Simba, I’m sorry.” was all she could manage. Simba glanced at her, even in pain his eyes betraying his deep love for her.

“It’ll be okay.” he spoke. No sooner had the words left his muzzle, did a sharp report of pain race from his shoulder through his body. The resulting roar sent Nala reeling back in fright quickly, unsure of what happened. Then she saw Rafiki, his stick in both hands, poised in a careful watching position. Simba’s moans faded into pants, and those pants into breaths of relief. Nala approached again, looking completely exasperated.

“What was that?”

“Only me.” Rafiki said in a playful tone, “And of course, my trusty stick.” Simba glared at him from the ground.

“You hit me?!?!” he yelled in a fiery tone.

“And on his shoulder?” Nala added very upset. The mandrill seemed unfazed,