gasp he gulped down huge gouts of water. Cold fright ripped through Nengwalamwe, his body beginning to thrash wildly as he once more fought for air as well as freedom. His paws scraped across a low shelf of rock, but before he could regain his footing, the crocodile twisted again, tugging him deeper towards death.

The two spun violently. Nengwalamwe’s legs careened out of the water and splashed, thrashed down, snagging the shelf of rock again. A sudden pain flared in his chest. He tried to scream, the air escaping from his muzzle in a cloud of silvery bubbles. A tearing sensation filled him and suddenly he was floating free again. The crocodile backed off with something clutched in its maw.

Lifting himself out of the water heavily, Nengwalamwe gasped in the burning air and floundered backward, staggering about and fighting his way back to the shallows, his front drenched with water and bright crimson, leaving a ruddy trail in the muddy water. He lurched woozily up the rough, hard-mud bank, pulling his paws from the morass before pacing away in a drunken stagger. He managed perhaps two lengths before collapsing in a heap, his sodden sides heaving weakly.

Mtundu rushed back up the riverbank, He clambered over Nengwalamwe from his off side and stood before him, looking at him with an expression of sick terror. “Hey, you okay, Fuzzy? Say somethin’!”

Nengwalamwe lifted his head weakly, looked at the baboon, and vomited a sheet of muddy water on both of them.

 

***

 

Later, once off the miraginous flatlands, the ape and the lion paused. Mtundu looked anxiously about to assure himself something large and full of teeth was not about to erase him from existence. Satisfied for the moment, he padded slowly. He made his way to the base of a nearby kigelia tree that looked even more bedraggled than Nengwalamwe did, if that were possible. He paused to shake himself and rub at an eye. Then he sat down with a grunt, wriggling his rump against the ground. He looked at the limping Nengwalamwe somewhat wistfully; the lion was a good enough companion, but as a grooming partner he was lacking quite a bit in Mtundu’s estimation. Mtundu knew he would have to clean himself up alone.

The lion ignored Mtundu for the moment. He pawed remorsefully at the raw patch on his chest. A sizeable swatch of fur had been ripped away, along with some of the skin beneath; in a few places, he could see raw weeping flesh. Nothing vital was damaged, as far as Nengwalamwe could ascertain, but his once splendid mane had literally had the heart ripped out of it. With it, obviously, had gone any chance of cubs. Whether the fur would even grow back again was doubtful enough, let alone it returning to perfect normality. Sighing lightly, he continued to stroke the damaged area absently with his forepaw, ignoring the stinging pain.

Mtundu coughed. “Erm… you’re gettin’ dirt in it.”

”What?”

“Your wound, Fuzzbutt.” Mtundu patted his chest. “You’re gettin’ it dirty.”

“Huh?” Nengwalamwe looked down. “Oh.” Settling his paw to the ground, he sighed again. 

“Does it hurt bad?” Mtundu asked sympathetically. “I know I slid the wrong way down a tree once, and hit a spot… you see this right here?” The baboon pointed to a place on his rear.

Nengwalamwe nodded dubiously.

“It rubbed the fur right off! Made me raw as hell, y’know?” Mtundu shrugged. “But the fur grew back, eventually.”

Nengwalamwe’s head throbbed achingly. “Mtundu,” he growled, “your arse is as bald as an ostrich egg.”

The ape looked back with comic surprise. “What?! Hey, you’re right! I never noticed! I guess it never grew back at all. Say, there’s one good thing - this way no one knows whether I’m comin’ or goin’!” Grinning, he looked back around, his humorous expression fading as he beheld the lion’s stone-faced expression. “Hey, c’mon, it was a joke, Fuzzy… lighten up.”

Nengwalamwe merely closed his eyes in response, raising his paw again to his chest, rubbing… rubbing… “It’s not very funny.”

“Yeah. I guess not.” Mtundu sat down in a surly heap. “Too bad you just lost your hair instead of your throat or maybe your head. Must be hell having to live with a bald spot instead’a bein’ dead, eh?”

“I was wrong. I am like you, sort of.” Nengwalamwe’s stricken expression made the baboon immediately regret his words. “I... I killed him didn’t I? Tashi wasn’t playing; he’s dead, isn’t he?”

Beneath the lion’s shaky gaze, his cheek twitched slightly, his mouth opening and then closing seemingly of its own will. Trembling, he rose, turned and stalked away stiffly into the shady underbrush, leaving an embarrassed silence behind him broken only by the distant chuckling of the river.

14. The Rains

 

Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, the leaves casting dusty shafts of green-gold to the ground below. The lion, sprawled on the loam beneath, was not entirely appreciative of their beauty. The way he felt, nothing would have struck him as beautiful. The elephants that roamed the plains of his mind stampeded about his skull, consuming all of his attention. Groaning, he rolled over onto his off side, throwing one forepaw over his eyes in an effort to blot out the brightness. His aching head welcomed the cool dark.

“Nengwe?”

The lion’s ear twitched. “Mmm.”

“Nengwe… c’mon.”

A guttural growl.   “Go ‘way, and by the way, my name’s Nengwalamwe.”

“I will most certainly not. Now you look at me.”

Nengwalamwe opened his eyes, his muzzle crinkling into a snarl. His hot breath escaping in short blasts. “Or what? Listen, damn it, I’m having a nap, and I’ll bloody well get up when I.…”

The lioness standing next to him regarded him with a sort of endless patience that can only come through time and trial. “Yes?”

Nengwalamwe’s only answer was a dull croak. “Uh.”

“That may be quite easy for you to say.” Melakwe yawned and licked a forepaw in a heartbreakingly familiar motion. “Well, Nengwe, I’d say you’ve got yourself into a mess, haven’t you?”

“Mother??” Nengwalamwe shook his head, instantly closing his eyes in regret as it set the elephants trampling about gleefully. “Mother, what are you doing here?!”

“Does it matter?” The elder lioness looked troubled, the familiar furrow appearing between her eyebrows in what Nengwalamwe’s father called “That Look.” Stepping closer, she eyed him squarely. “You and I need to talk.”

Nengwalamwe cringed inwardly. The last time he’d heard that tone of voice was when he had got in trouble for nipping the tailtuft of his aunt. OK, so what if ‘nipping’ wasn’t meant to include drawing blood?

“What about?”

“Don’t be clever with me.” She began to pace around him. “Nengwe… what are you doing here?”

“Well, I was sleeping.”

Her eyes pierced him. “I mean way out here in the middle of absolute nowhere.” She shook her head. “You’re a lion, aren’t you?”

He stiffened indignantly. “Of course I am!”

Melakwe shook her head. “It takes more than a mane, a loud roar and a fire in your loins Nengwe. You can sire all the cubs you want and never be a lion. You’ll just be another wandering cub with teeth and claws who scares everyone into doing what you wants until another takes your place.” She shook her head and sighed. “The last thing I wanted to raise was another Nengwala.”

Nengwalamwe’s eyes narrowed. “Father is not a wandering cub! He’s…”

“Oh please! He’s a tyrant who rules with his claw and not his mind. Nengwala doesn’t care about anyone but Nengwala.” She looked at him steadily. “Is that what you want to be, son? Another mindless brute looking out for nothing other than himself? If so, you’re no better than those dogs back there; less even.”

He snorted. “I showed them. Miss Elizabeth got a pretty nice shower.”

“And you’re proud of that?” she blasted, her eyes furrowing deeper still.

“It was Mutt’s idea!”

“What!? My son, the great Nengwalamwe, ruler of nothing, shows his prowess by spraying a loudmouthed beast barely a quarter of his size then runs like a threatened cub!” Nengwalamwe tried to turn away. “Now look at me when I’m talking to you! You can’t run forever. One day even those great pads of yours will stop running.”

Melakwe drew away in disgust and shame.

“What did you expect me to do, stand and fight them all?” He looked at her with amazement. “They’d have torn me to pieces!”

“And that was the only time you did use that head of yours for something other than a support for that bloody great mane you’re so proud of!” Melakwe advanced on her startled son, closing to within a whisker’s touch. “Tell me, Nengwe, where’d that bare spot on your chest come from, eh? Wear it off trying to mount your friend back

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