monkeys that lived, ate and hid in the tree canopy, yet it sat and walked on the ground. While it certainly was like the forest dwellers, there was no mistaking that this creature was no more of the forest than was the great beast. Why they were there, and where they were going, no one knew. No one that saw them realised that they were unlikely ever to see their like again.

Fear is a strange thing. For many, the fear of being afraid is as great as or greater than any fear of actual danger. To be afraid is to be seen to be weak, so Nengwalamwe’s father said. Fear, though, is a warning. Fear is necessary, fear is normal. To live without fear is not to live at all. Many who experience little fear in their lives often go and seek it out, or else live perpetually in the shadow of fear of imagined danger. Most animals have no need of such artificially created fear; it is around them each and every day. It’s in the crack of a twig, the swish of the grass, or the shadow from the air. The animals that looked upon the great beast and his skittish companion looked upon them fearfully, seeing danger in those deep eyes and dark lips.

"Do ya actually know where we’re goin’ Nengwe?"

 The lion’s eye flicked from side to side anxiously. "No, do you?"

Snuffling, the baboon stopped, sitting back on to his bald rump and looking around high into the canopy.

"I guess so."

The lion turned his head right back, and halted. "‘I guess so’! What’s that meant to mean?"

"OK, OK. Jeez Nengwe, keep your mane on. I was only asking," asking with flitting gaze and rapid breaths.  "Does this place frighten a big lion like you?"

"No! No…" Nengwalamwe tensed as he turned his ears to one side at a sudden bird call. "No," he repeated through snatched breaths. "I’m not afraid. What’s there to be afraid of?"

"I dunno, but this place scares the living crap outta me. Can I groom you?"

"What? This is no time to be tick picking Mtundu," the lion said without taking his eyes off the shadowy undergrowth.

"I’ll let ya lick my back."

"You will…?" The lion turned his great head slowly to his companion, a hint of a smile managing to creep over his lips.

Further on the ground rose and the cliffs grew ragged. The bush browned. Steadily, the ground rose up to the plateau so that just after dawn the two walked up through scrub emerging onto a broad plain. The ground rolled away before them. In the shimmering distance, now as familiar to Nengwe as his own scent, stood the great rock. They had returned.

As the new day turned to old it grew warm and almost cloudless; a brightness heralding the end of the rains; the steamy humidity telling a different tale. The top of the rock, hazed into near unrecognisability, still lay over a day ahead. The way back now seemed clear enough yet neither could see what lay beyond the ridge ahead. As they crested it the reason became plain. The slope broke abruptly across their path; the sun casting the pair’s shadows long over the light, barren sandy soil. To the left and some four or five lengths below, golden laden by the late sun, the ground was richer, moister but uneven and broken by low rock and sparse stunted trees. They would have to either head right toward the river or along the ridge which they could see raggedly curving away into unknown and further away from the great rock, or else go back  the way they had come.

Nengwalamwe walked forward tentatively. He suddenly stopped and looked down. At his forepaws the ground dropped away abruptly and darkened in deep shadow. To one side below the ground was rough; scrub littering the rises. He looked to the left, and wished he hadn’t. He was on the edge of a bluff some five or more lengths high stretching and curving away to the southeast. Yet more rock blocking his way. He edged back carefully, taking shallow shuffling steps: bumping into Mtundu.

“Hey! Watch where ya puttin’it!”

The lion stopped and sat down firmly. The ground seemed safe enough, or was it? Might it not crumble under them, sending them tumbling to their deaths, burying them in an instant so that no one would ever have known they were ba….

“Nengwe, are you OK? Ya kinda look unsteady there.”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m… yeah, I’m good.” Nengwe tried to smile. “Just don’t look over the edge.”

The pair looked out from the head of the bluff toward the great rock, now bathed in the intense red-gold of sunset. Nengwe noticed, picked out by the low-slanted light, a large group, almost a herd, of buffalo drifting in a wide arc toward the foot of the bluff. 

“You hungry?”

“A little, why?”

“Don’ those buffalo look mighty tempting?”

“Not to me Mtundu, and way out of reach. Buffalo don’t take too kindly to being hunted. Even Shaha and Falana would pass them by.” Mtundu sat, concentrating on Nengwe. “If they stand their ground they can easily kill you. They’re strictly big pride prey.” Nengwe looked back to the herd.

“Where do’ya reckon they’ll be?”

“Shaha and Falana?”

“Yeah.”

The lion looked up from below the bluff to the great rock in the distance.

“Way over there, by Silent Rocks probably.”

“Why d’ya call them Silent Rocks?”

Nengwe shrugged. “”I don’t know. It’s what they call them.”

“What d’ya call this place.”

“Here? I dunno.”

“No? I reckon this must be Saffi’s Bluff.”

Nengwe had heard Shaha use the name. He had nodded politely. At the time he had not realised where she meant. Though he did not know it he had once seen the bluff, an upraised fault line of sandstone, but had dismissed it as being small and uninteresting. Now, up close, it took on new meaning. He had clearly underestimated it. “Who was Saffi?”

“Saffi? I think she was one o’yours: a lioness.”

For a few moments the pair sat silent.

“So, how long do you think we have?”

“For what?”

“Until the dogs get to hear about us?”

“Half a day. A day at most.”

“Then they come for me. We won’t even be home by then.”

“For us Nengwe. They’ll come looking for us. But maybes not yet.”

“Eh?”

“Miss Elizabeth’s got a taste for dragging things out till she’s good an’ ready. She ain’t one to call a pawprint a paw print”

“You think?”

“Yuh. We got a little time to make some friends. You’re not alone in all this Nengwe. There’s many ‘ad wanna see the back o’those dogs.”

“I hope so. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

Nengwalamwe noticed that ahead strode a small file of the largest horned animals he had ever seen. Taller, their straight twisted horns rising yet further, and heavier, yet more elegant, smoother coated and gentler coloured than the buffalo; they wound their way easily toward the river.

Mtundu surveyed them with curiosity. “What are they?”

“I don’t know.” Nengwe shook his head; something new caught his eye. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That. There, look way over there… it’s… no, it can’t be. That’s Shaha!”

“Where? Out here? No way. I cain’t see nuttin’.”

“It’s her all right. So, where’s Falana?”

Nengwe watched intently. Yes, that was Shaha surely. Her mottled coat stood out clearly in the evening light, and there, yes, there were her ear marks. She inched forward, flat to the ground. Then, almost shielded from view by the… whatever they were, was another lioness. Not Falana. Heavier set, clumsier, almost angular at the hindquarters; no, definitely not Falana. The buffalo had moved round and now stood between the bluff and the lionesses that seemed intent on the bigger antelope. “Never take your eye off a buffalo Nengwe” his mother reminded him. Shaha would know that. She’d never forget that surely? Yet there she was, letting the buffalo blindside her.

Almost silently at this distance, the scene burst into life. From the distance a slight lioness rose from light cover, then another, faster still. Dust rose from the ground as the buffalo panicked. Another couple rose in the far distance. The first pair turned as the great antelope leapt away, turning toward the buffalo. “Nengwe!” A few faint bellows and grunts floated up. The buffalo had now seen them and one turned back to face the lionesses. “Nengwe!” Everything moved at once, dust everywhere, noise and confusion. “NENGWE! This ain’t good!”

“Don’t interrupt! What the heck is it Mtundu?” Nengwalamwe turned his head angrily. There, some way down slope, heading along the bluff top toward them were three dogs. The lead was very dark, almost black, with lighter grey to the top of his head and ears. His, no her legs, were almost white. She stood tall and proud. To her side but some way behind walked Elizabeth, her ears round and upright. Her coat smooth, its colours bright in the evening light. To the rear another dog, rather like Eddie, trailed looking agitated, scanning left and right.

“Mtundu, what happened to that half a day?”

“I dunno. What are we going to do? Run away?”

“No