never be any use to you boy; he’s certainly never going to be any use to me. What’s the point in having two sons? No boy, you need to learn how to really fight - the hard way – out there, against the enemy.”

Nengwalamwe watched his father’s face intently for a few seconds.

“Are you still here? Go on boy, go run to your mother!”

The sharp cry of a nearby waterfowl startled Nengwalamwe. Shaking his head, he thrust the thoughts of home out of his mind and studied the lay of the riverbank around him. A few lengths behind him the flow of water was more constant, but still not heavy, and the rocks gave way to a gravely bank that sloped gently enough down to the water’s edge.

"Helloooooo… is anything workin’ inside that fuzzball you call a head? I said, what are we doin’?” Mtundu frowned expressively in a way that Nengwalamwe could not match. “You ain’t addin’ to my peace ‘o mind, ya know.”

“I’m looking for a safe place to cross… and you’re distracting me.”

“Well, excuuuse me!” The monkey snorted. “I didn’t know river crossin’ needed brains.”

“You’re not helping.” Nengwalamwe shook his head. "Gahhh… forget it. It’s too rough here, anyway. I’d like to go back upstream a little and see if it’s any calmer.”

“Umm, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The lion rolled his eyes. “Oh, so now you’re the river expert now are you?”

“No, but I got ears Fuzzbutt. Listen!”

Nengwalamwe perked up his ears. He grimaced at the sharp yips reaching them from upstream. “Oh great, that does it! How did they find us? And why are they still following us?”

“How should I know? Just whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast!” The baboon glanced back upstream frantically, gnashing his teeth in terror. “They sound really ticked.”

Nengwalamwe grimaced. “Pee’d off more like. We can’t cross here. Well, maybe I could, but you can’t. It’s too fas…”

Thunder cracked overhead, drowning the lion’s statement as lightning struck out at the land, revealing the shadowy shapes of a quartet of dogs emerging from the underbrush above them. Their eyes flashed eerily in the scintillating light, the leader let out a howl of glee as their prey finally came in sight.

The quavering howl broke Nengwalamwe’s nerve. The pursuit across the desert, the crocodile, his odd dreams, and the strain of trying to be on watch for two animals at once, had all worn his endurance to a thread, and it finally snapped at the alien sound. Bolting, he curled about his own length and sprinted for the open bank and the water beyond, leaving Mtundu screeching in protest.

“HEY!! Where da heck you goin’?!”

Groaning, the lion kept running to the water. His haunches shot backwards, launching his bulk into the air and splashing him down into the churning depths. He went under immediately then returned to the surface grudgingly, allowing him to force his muzzle above and take in a gasp of air. The furious rumbling of the river filled his ears, a roar he could feel in every stand of fur, a shuddering that sunk in along with the cold, threatening to numb him and drag him down.

Dragging in another gulp of air, Nengwe flailed at the water, shoving himself along by sheer force of will, his hindquarters twisting violently as he fought the current’s insistent pull. His raw forepaws scraped across stone; he cried out; but he seized upon it desperately, claws digging into the loose gravel bed. He yanked forward, up and out, dragging himself up the bank. Shivering, the lion staggered clear of the water, glancing back the way he had come, and stopped in horror.

The flashes of lightning came rapidly, flickering across his vision, enabling him to see well enough in frozen moments. Across the river, the four dogs had cornered Mtundu against the water, encircling him in an arc that drew inward steadily. Nengwalamwe saw the baboon’s eyes flashing in panic as he kept glancing behind him, but the sheer terror of the unknown river kept him frozen in place. “Mtundu! RUN! Over here!”

One of the dogs looked up at the shout and grinned, the odd piebald pattern on its side seemed familiar and grotesque framed against the almost black of his far flank. “Don’ worry, Fuzzbutt. You just keep on goin’ the way you are… we’ll sort ol’ Tuggles ‘ere.” Charles’ tongue lolled out in a derisive laugh, Nengwalamwe barely caught his soft tittering over the roaring tumult around him. “Yeah… he’s well sorted.”

Nengwalamwe pointed his muzzle at the sky. A roar of anguish bellowed out, but was lost in the thunder as the clouds overhead unleashed their long hoarded arsenal. A solid sheet of rain pounded down upon the lion and drew a silver veil up from the surging water around him, cutting off his view.

 

***

 

 

Falana shifted restlessly and rolled to her offside, rearranging her paws under her. The humid stillness of the savannah air gripped at her like a smothering paw, wrapping itself around her form and dulling the world about her. Sound, smell, even sight seemed to fade as the air grew increasingly oppressive. Off in the distance, the thunderheads bloomed, their edges tinged with a violent purple colour that matched her mood.

 

***

 

That night, on a sheltered knoll a lioness waited alone. She lay alone; no one came to lie by her side, no one came to speak with her. Later, after hours of waiting, she got up and went hunting alone; no one ran at her side, no one shared her kill. When in the depths of the night the sky burst, she got wet alone; no one shared her discomfort. Towards dawn the lioness padded a path worn by a lion, it lead to a rock out cropping so high that it towered above the tallest baobab; no one walked by her side… not even her mother.

The rock, its crevices already overflowing with water, welcomed her. She picked her way up to the promontory alone with no one to guide her. Even in the rain, its slopes, transformed to cascades, held no fear for her, yet she was not at ease. She looked for something; something she might never find. She sniffed and pawed at a mound of broken rocks at the base of the promontory. Whatever she was looking for, it was clear from her pained expression and desperate scratching that she had not found it.

She turned and looked out into the droplet-misted sky; nor could she find what she sought in the sky. She dropped her head and collapsed into the flowing, folding sheet of tepid water at her paws.

By dawn she was gone, unseen and alone, except by an elderly baboon that had the misfortune to be waiting out the rain under one of the larger lone rocks that littered the plain below the promontory. He had thought his life was soon to end when the lioness stopped in front of him, yet she had said nothing more than, “He’s gone… hasn’t he?” His life spared, he looked away as he struggled to collect his thoughts to reply. When he looked back, he saw that she was gone into the early light.

15. The River

When the bedraggled lion hauled himself out of the river, he had no thoughts other than for his friend. He watched, calling and roaring, as the dogs lead the baboon away from the water’s far edge. He knew he could do nothing to help him through the grey mist of driving rain; it was a barrier as great as the rocks that covered the entrance to the cave on the rock. He stood, water dripping from his underbelly, until he could no longer see movement on the far bank. Mtundu was gone; Nengwalamwe was once more alone in a strange land.

When the rains broke there had been little wind to drive the rain. Later, as night fell, the sun invisible behind the thunderously black clouds, the breeze freshened. It brought a chill to the air that only hours before had threatened to dry up the river.

Now the rain sheeted down steadily, a grey pall that surrounded the lion with a curtain of silver cold, wrapping him in its chilly embrace. His mane hung from his neck, all vainglory vanished. It dripped and ran, an endless stream of rivulets cascading down and drizzling onto his forepaws as he walked. His paws walked an aimless path, meandering downstream at an idle pace. Each forepaw blundering ahead of the other, each pawfall sinking into dank mud.

Nengwalamwe welcomed the rain. It soaked through his fur, gripping him with a moist numbness, enveloping him in a capsule of cold containing the iciness that filled him inside. His ears, clammy and immobile, ached interminably from unending exposure to chilling dampness. The dust, now turned to claw clogging mud, wedged the digits of his paws apart painfully. His great head canted downward, thin threads of water spilling from his mane in cold rills that coursed down his muzzle to drip steadily from the end of his nose and whiskers. The sensation was irritating, but he welcomed it nevertheless. It seemed to be the one thing left he could feel, a dark touch that elicited his nerves to life, reminding him he was still alive.

His ears flicked feebly, registering the pattering sound of the raindrops striking the earth around him. A low rush of air escaped his muzzle; half sigh, half moan, as he stopped and glanced about, dimly taking in his surroundings. The river, swollen and triumphant, rolled past him steadily on his left. The water, laden with mud, looked solid, like a churning flow of glassy sand. To

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