would you be running away from?”

“I’m not running way. I’m leaving my pride.”

A faint roar folded over them.

“Yeah, and I hate termites. Ahh, you done the right thing kid. You don’t need them no more.” The baboon saw Nengwalamwe’s ears swivel to catch the sound. “Is that..? ”

“Yeah, it’s my father. He wants to kill me. He can’t know I’m here.” The lion’s head shook, “He mustn’t.”

“Run to the mountains kid. He won’t catch you there.”

“Why not?”

“It bull but you think it’s the end of the world right? He ain’t gonna follow you if he reckons you’re dead already. If he’s after you he won’t follow you up there.”

“So I had better get going. I bet you’re glad I haven’t got time to eat you.”

“Yeah, sorta. I wish I could come with you kid, but I’m too old for all that sort of stuff.” He looked to the hills. Nengwalamwe saw in his eyes that he was glad to be out of their shadow. Nengwalamwe made to leave, but a thought turned him back.

“I can’t leave you here.”

“Hey kid, I said I’m too old for all that.”

“No - you’d give me away to my father. I can’t leave you here.”

“No, I’ll not talk kid.” The sound of Nengwala’s roar hit them again, much closer this time, drilling urgency deep into Nengwalamwe. “You’ve got to get going kid and don’t forget to eat, you look as though you could do with a decent meal, what did ya ma feed ya on?”

“What? I’m going to die and all you can talk about is food.”

“Sure, you wanna remember see. Remember that no one’s gonna do nothin’ for ya. If you wanna eat then you got not to care about anyone else and go and get it yourself. And then you can’t have the girls if you don’t eat, and you don’t eat if you sit on your backside all day. It ain’t gonna come to you, you gotta go out there and grab it; just like everything else. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I get the idea.” The lion glanced around nervously.

“Look, I’ll tell ya sumthin’. I ain’t sick. I made that up so’s ya won’ eat me, see? You gonna go out there and take what you want?”

Nengwe looked at the old ape for a moment, considering, but the sound of a roar from the kopjes below decided him. “Yeah, I’m going to take it all right....” A look of ruthlessness came over the young lion.

“Hey! Don’t look at me with those meat eat’r’s eyes o’yours!”

Nengwalamwe stared at the baboon for a second then stood up, the fire in his eyes fading. Then he lashed out with his near forepaw, his extended claws flashing as they struck the baboon square on the neck. The blow sent the baboon crashing to the dust with three deep-to-the-bone gashes in its now lifeless neck. A small crimson pool formed at the fallen baboon’s shoulder. Nengwalamwe lost no time in picking up the body between his teeth and dragging if off. He could have left the body where it fell, but the body would have lead his father straight to him. The blood still flowed and in next half hour the lion had to pause at least every minute and swallow to prevent a trail forming on to the ground.

An hour, and one elderly baboon, later Nengwalamwe came to the furthest boundary of his pride’s land. It was a place he had only ever heard of in one of his father’s stirring tales. Ahead, set in a circle of clear ground, stood what he immediately recognised as mane rock. It was grooved and the striations made it look, even to Nengwalamwe’s limited imagination, just like the hair of a lion’s mane. His father had said it stood as high as vulture flies on the afternoon’s heat. Nengwalamwe chuffed and scratched at the low rock with a forepaw as he sniffed the air at its surface. The scent of his father was barely detectable, indeed had he not been so used to it he would not have smelt it at all. He drew forward and, smiling broadly, lent his own scent to mane rock.

The mountains rose ahead. They smelt of cold death, as a massive two-day-old carcass. The ribs showed way above through the broken flesh. The green fur stopped abruptly half way up the belly, beyond the skin had been stripped away revealing the flesh below. Nengwalamwe had never felt any unease when eating, yet now he felt that all the gemsbok that he had ever eaten from had melded into one and lay putrefying before him. He had been right, the mountains were no place for Talashi, and they were no place for any lion. They were the only place left for Nengwalamwe.

He left the trees far below, scrambling and scratching over the loose rocks. Despite not hearing any signs of pursuit for a few hours he did not stop. He feared the mountains but they called to him. He had almost forgotten why he was climbing. The mountains pulled him up and up. With each step the air around grew colder, he felt as though it would cover him and seep into his flesh until he was as solid as the rock itself. It was taking him in, while drawing him on, further and further, higher and higher.

He climbed until the sun shone on his hindquarters. Ahead lay a tiny col, a shallow bowl carved out between two of the lower peaks. He now realised what he had done, and was afraid. Talashi was surely dead; he had killed his own brother. He had left his pride and for what? What lay ahead? Nothing, nothing but cold emptiness. The baboon had offered the hand of friendship and Nengwalamwe had eaten it. He vowed that if he ever got out of the mountains alive, he would be a real lion, just like his father; if he ever got out of the mountains…

 

***

 

Nengwalamwe woke suddenly. He had not meant to fall asleep and felt foolish for letting himself slip away. He lifted his forequarters and took a couple of quick licks at his hindlegs. The mud hung heavily, it was going to need several more hours of work to clean it off. He was exposed in the thicket. The midday sun beat down relentlessly, drying the mud into a hard casing matted into his fur. He needed to get out of the sun. A grove in the middle of nowhere was not the best place for uninterrupted grooming. He decided that the great rock was the right place; at least there he could be sure to see anything coming to disturb him. Anything might creep up on him here, particularly that Falafana.

‘If she catches me like this I’ll never get anywhere with her. She’ll think I’m an idiot. Why did I let myself get fooled by that baboon? Why?’ He thought on, ‘And by Llasani come to that. Boy Nengwalamwe am I dumb or am I dumb?’

He got up, yawned, stretched, lay down, yawned, got up again stretching his hindquarters, and then headed lazily towards the rock where he knew he would find plenty of shade.

8.Getting Priorities Right

 

It was already past midday when Nengwalamwe wearily climbed up the boulder path to the rock. He was still alone and he was still hungry. A thick crackling coat of heavy mud still hung from his underside from chin to tail. He reached the flat of the rock and on into one of the smaller caves to the north. He was looking for a quiet secluded spot where he could spend the afternoon washing while brooding over what to do about Shaha, Falana and above all that slippery baboon.

He had not eaten for some days. His hunger confused his judgement and telescoped the hours so that sunset took him unawares. In the shadows of the cave he found that night came sooner than on the open savannah. He was still struggling to clean the last of the rough grit from his fine underfur as darkness fell. He felt sure that he had to return his fur to pristine perfection if he was ever to get anywhere with Falana. No lioness was even going to look at him unless he was clean.

He felt mixed-up and confused. It had to be said that she was quite attractive in her defiance. He considered her a challenge to his adulthood; he knew that he had to conquer her simply because she dared to say no to him. Not that she had actually said no, Nengwalamwe had not even asked, yet he was certain that if he did then Falana would reject him. This tacit rejection was what drove his determination. One day she would say ‘yes’ to him, one day he would prove his adulthood to her. He did not want cubs, he certainly did not want Falana, what he wanted was to show that he was a lion who commanded respect. That done, there would be nothing left to hold him, nothing at all. So he would leave her and leave these Pridelands altogether.

The baboon was an altogether different problem. He had followed Nengwalamwe back to the rock and was spending the afternoon hanging about on the high ledges way out of the lion’s reach. Occasionally he sent, whether by accident or design Nengwalamwe could not determine, showers of earth and loose stony fragments down to the lower, broader walkways that Nengwalamwe used around the rock. What was he hanging about for? What was there for a baboon here on the rock, particularly as there was no food and a hungry lion prowling about?

Nengwalamwe decided to ignore the baboon for the time being. They often hung around high spots during the day, watching the comings and goings of the savannah and hurling occasional abuse and more at anything within range before running away excitedly. However this one was very quiet. He seemed more bored than anything else. He made only one sound that Nengwalamwe heard: a

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