few beams of sunlight that reach the ground here. Roar!

“Is that a yes?”

Keep mouth wide open. Show him who the meat eater around here is.

“Why’s your tongue’s all rough?”

Why bother? Close mouth. Look around. See the slope I fell down. Notice the smooth band of mud. Feel the rock that stopped me. Feel the pain it gave me. Thank the stars it saved me. Can’t hear anything but noise, noise, rushing, roaring noise. Taste the moist air, cool on my tongue. Smell the water, on everything, everywhere. Reach out to the baboon before he has a chance to back away. Lick his foreleg; now he knows. Glad to be alive.

***

“Can we go now?”

Nengwalamwe looked around again. Through the swirling mist he could see the forest, dense and dark about them on three sides, the river flooding past them and plunging down amongst the glistening rocks on the fourth. A sinking feeling enveloped him as he eyed the slope they had so abruptly descended. No way back. The path they had been following along had vanished before his paws, cut away by the angrily pounding water. He had fallen just once, yet the river fell over and over filling the air with a hissing flume of spray and sound, its soft patience cutting away at the hard rock. Lions, however, are notoriously short on patience.

“Mtundu, where can we go? Where else is left?”

Mtundu raised an arm to the river. “There, Nengwe. There!”

Nengwalamwe lay still on the ground by the rock that had broken his fall; thankfully without breaking his back; lifted and turned his head to the raging flow below the falls. Was it raging? No, not quite; the river opened out into a wider, calmer, probably much deeper pool at the fall’s foot, but was it swimmable? No, no baboon could ever survive that, and few lion. Certainly, Nengwalamwe would not have jumped into that water out of choice. “No way Mtundu. There’s no way we’re crossing that!”

“In case you ain’t noticed, we’ve gotta cross it. Here’s as good as anywhere. Tell me Fuzzbutt, what’s so wrong with here?”

“Mtundu, it’s too deep, too wide and too strong for you.”

“Yeah Fuzzbutt? You’re just scared. We’re here, Falana’s over there, how else are we gonna get you two together?”

“Quit this Falana stuff Baldarse!”

“What would your mother think of her little cubbie running from a lioness eh?”

“She’d… hey cut it out! I know what you’re after! Don’t think I don’t. You want me to swim across that with you on my back. You’re trying to blackmail me into it aren’t you?”

“Me? Do’ya think I’d do that to you Nengwe?” Mtundu’s voice rose almost to an insistent screech, “Come on, would I after all we’d been through?”

“Well…”

“Huh?” Mtundu said waving his arms about his head. “Huh Fuzzbutt?”

“OK, OK! Calm down. We’re not going no place all fired up, not if they are waiting for me.”

Mtundu’s upper lip curled back to cover his teeth again. “Who are they?”

“Them, you know - them!”

Mtundu half closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards. “No. Who?”

“Them.” Nengwalamwe’s mane shook. “All teeth, jaws and knobbly bits. They’re gonna eat me!”

Mtundu passed his hand over his face. “Not while I’m around they ain’t. Anyways this isn’t croc country. There ain’t none here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re sure? I see those jaws of teeth in my sleep and they frighten me.” At the thought of sleep Nengwalamwe yawned.

“Yeeesh. From where I’m sittin’ I can understand how ya feel. You’ll get over it,” Mtundu said, waving at Nengwalamwe dismissively, “I sure did.” Lowering his arms, he eyed Nengwalamwe squarely. “Anyway who said anything about crossing right here?”

“What?”

“I think we should look around first and see if there’s anywhere better.”

“Where?”

“I dunno Fuzzy. I ain’t had a good look round yet! Come on; let’s try over there by the falls.”

“Mtundu! You’re crazy! What’s there but a load of rocks?”

“Yeah,” said Mtundu with a smile. “Rocks….”

When Nengwalamwe finally got up he was surprised, not at the pains, which were as sharp as ever, but at the aches and stiffness of his legs. It felt almost as if he’d been lying there for hours. He wanted desperately to stretch but knew the pain would intensify if he attempted anything but the most basic motions of standing and walking. He felt the damp ground beneath his pads. Then he floated away, his paws growing invisible to his feeling. His sight veiled in red. He could do nothing to hold himself upright. He felt himself fall from paws that were no longer his.

“Whoa! Steady there boy!”

“What’s happening to me Mtundu?” He pleaded plaintively, “Help me, please!”

“You’ll be OK in a minute. You’re legs have probably just gone dead.”

“Dead!? Mtundu, help me! I’ll do anything, just do something. I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die!” Mtundu said with a gentle smile spreading over his face. “You weren’t out for long, a few moments only. Try to move your paws.”

Nengwalamwe dared not try.

“Go on Fuzzbutt. Gimme them claws!”

Nengwalamwe pleaded with his eyes. Mtundu insisted with his teeth. Suddenly the lion roared in pain.

“Ah…” Mtundu backed away, his eyes darting from side to side. “I guess the feeling’s commin’ back, ain’t it?”

***

Nengwalamwe roared, “Wait! I’m slipping all over the place back here!” His voice, that could carry further than the eye could see over the open savannah, was all but drowned by the falling white water. Ahead, Mtundu stopped and looked back mouthing something which the lion’s delicate ears, completely filled by the power of the falls, couldn’t catch. The baboon beckoned the lion on, then moved into the wall of water. Nengwalamwe looked on, his eyes filled with terror, his ears flattened down to block out a little of the fall’s anger. Mtundu had disappeared, swallowed by the cascading water, surely never to return.

Yet moments later he did, or at least a hairy hand and forearm did. It emerged magically from behind the spray, soaked and dripping, and waggled a finger towards Nengwe in a beckoning motion. When the lion failed to move, it uncurled and did it again. Still the lion stood, afraid and bemused at the vision of the disembodied hand. He was about to lie down when a head appeared to join the hand. The hand waved again, the head smiled then mouthed something unmistakable, “Come on Fuzzbutt! What you waitin’ for?”

The rocks beneath Nengwalamwe’s paws felt cold and slimy as he picked his way forward, the deep black surface under him covered with garish green filaments. A strange plant, thick leaved, lushly green and rooted in a crack in the rock face, brushed against the lion’s side as he passed. He paused, standing no more than three lengths from the security of the banks yet feeling days away. He tentatively reached forward with a forepaw. It slipped on the rounded green-slimed head of the boulder. He reached out again, frightened to touch it. He knew he must get on it, over it and over everything. All he needed was to get out of this place. Everywhere was rock and hard places and he was caught in amongst them all, threading his was, being lead and driven. Chilling spray blew on to his face and whiskers with each gust of buffeting wind that swirled around the rocks. Each drop told him that he was past the point of no return, yet he couldn’t really remember how it had all happened, other than that Mtundu featured at every moment. Here he was again, beckoning him on into the water; calling him on, on, on. So on it was, though to what, Nengwalamwe had no idea. The lion knew now that Mtundu’s world was so much larger and more complex than his own and that despite being the strongest and most powerful animal for days in any direction Nengwalamwe was the weak one. His father, he thought, might have been proud at what his son had become, yet the son now took no pride in what his father had been. Maybe Mtundu held Nengwalamwe’s future in that wrinkled olive brown haired hand of his. Maybe it was time to stop questioning and to just trust the baboon. Against all his instincts, Nengwalamwe drew himself up proudly, growled loudly but silently in the roar of the falls, raised a foreleg and then stepped forward to follow the mysterious vanishing monkey.

Nengwalamwe pressed himself against the drenched, slime covered rock face. He looked down, watching intently for the right spot to place each unsteady pawfall. The rock curved away slightly; instead of going into the cascade of falling water, ready to cut any animal’s back in two in a moment, Nengwalamwe felt himself slip past the white knives, behind almost. No, it was behind. Here there was no sound, other than the deafening fall of the water. No wonder Mtundu had beckoned; no sound made by any animal could be heard here. The rock curved away into a large cavern, strewn with rock fragments. Only a fragment of the dazzling daylight penetrated the white wall of