This is the end, beautiful friend.
This is the end, my only friend, the end.
Of our elaborate plans - the end.
Of everything that stands - the end.
No safety or surprise - the end.
I'll never look into your eyes again.

The pale-coated lioness cub scampered through the short grass so swiftly that her mother, though her legs were longer, had difficulty keeping up with her wild bounces.

"Gently, Nala, gently!" she remonstrated, laughing.

"Oh boy, I really showed that dik-dik, huh Mom?" Nala was not listening. "Just a little closer and it would've been - pow! Lights out!"

Although the cub was far too young to go after game with the pride, her mother had treated her to a private hunting lesson and was proud of the way Nala had handled herself.

"I can't wait to tell Simba!" the cub continued. The lioness, Sarafina, looked guilty. "Darling, you know you're not supposed to be hunting yet. I thought we agreed this trip was to be our little secret?"

"But just Simba? Please, Mom? He's my best friend - and he'll be soooo jealous!" Nala added, her eyes glinting wickedly.

"Very well, then," Sarafina smiled. "I suppose it's hopeless trying to keep you two apart."

She was glad that her daughter had such a good relationship with the son of King Mufasa. All the pride knew that they were expected to marry when they reached adulthood, and their firm friendship would make it so much easier. Sarafina was thrilled that Nala had been chosen as the prince's bride and privately thought that she was more than a match for young Simba.

Nala prattled on as they made the climb up to their home, Pride Rock. "And after dinner I'm gonna show Simba where I nearly caught the deer, and then we're going down to the lake to watch the flamingos land. And tomorrow - "

"Hush!" said her mother, in such a strange voice that the irrepressible Nala was silenced instantly. Her ears drooped; what had she done wrong? Then she saw the rest of the pride, her aunts and cousins, grouped in a circle around the tip of the towering rock - the position they took up when there was important news to tell. But the speaker in the middle was not their mighty king, Mufasa, but his younger brother: Scar.

Sarafina and Nala hurried to the edge of the group and lay down with the rest. Nala couldn't see Simba or his dad anywhere, but she spotted his mother Sarabi at Scar's side. Her expression was one of shock and grief; her mouth was slightly open, her eyes were wide, and a single tear dribbled down her cheek. Nala felt her stomach lurch, and she pressed close to her mother.

"...So it is with a heavy heart that I assume the throne. Yet, out of the ashes of this tragedy, we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era..." Scar was saying. For the first time, Nala noticed the gang of hyaenas slipping from the shadows to take their places at the dark lion's side.

"What hap-" she began, but Sarafina's soft paw enveloped her and pressed her down. His speech done, Scar descended from his perch surrounded by a phalanx of hyaenas. The lionesses drew back as he passed.

Nala struggled free, hooking her claws into her mother's foreleg. "Please, someone tell me what happened?" she begged. "Where's Simba?"

The lionesses looked at one another doubtfully. Nala knew the look - it was the 'are they old enough to know?' expression that always made her and Simba mad at the grown-ups.

Sarafina laid a paw protectively on her daughter's head. "Tell us," she said sadly. "Tell us both."

Sarabi walked over to them, looking like a ghost. She seemed to have aged years since Nala saw her earlier that day, her flanks and eye-sockets hollow. The queen lay down so her face was level with the small cub.

"Nala, my honey. I'm so sorry. The wildebeest stampeded in the gorge. Mufasa was down there, and..." (she closed her eyes briefly as a shudder ran along her shoulders and back) "so was Simba."

"Is he badly hurt?" Nala asked anxiously. Sarafina folded her daughter to her chest. "Darling, he's dead."

Dead. The word sent a cold shock through Nala, as though she had plunged into the waterhole on a hot day. Cubs like her didn't die. Old lions died; new cubs were born dead and sometimes their mother died too. This Nala accepted. But Simba...her friend...no.

Sarabi led the sorrowful procession to the gorge. They didn't want Nala to come, she could tell, but she would not be left alone. She couldn't believe that it wasn't all a horrible joke; at any moment she expected Simba to pounce her from behind a rock with a cheerful cry of "Fooled ya!"

The body lying in the dust was so trampled and dusty it was barely recognisable as a lion. But Sarabi licked the still, cold muzzle until Mufasa's face was clean of blood and dirt and his fierce, noble expression revealed. His eyes were closed and his tongue protruded between his large white teeth. The body had already stiffened.

Nala felt the hair along her spine stand on end. Mufasa had been a regal lion but a jolly one too, full of life. He always had a kind word for the cheeky little cub who played with his son. To see him like this was too much for the young lioness. Grimacing, she turned aside and was sick.

Frightened and ashamed, she whimpered as her mother cleaned her. "It's all right, darling. It's perfectly natural. And nobody was looking at you," Sarafina reassured. The memory of what they were looking it hit Nala as another wave of nausea, and she gave a dry retch. She pictured her friend's body as his father's was, battered and ripped, and squeezed her eyes shut - but the image would not go away. Burying her head in her mother's chest, she pleaded "Mom, take me home. I don't want to see Simba."

"Ssh...we couldn't find him. He was so small, he must have been...oh, my precious!" The sudden death of the prince had brought home to Sarafina how fragile a young life is, and she was almost crushed by the love and anxiety she felt for her own little one. As though Nala had been a newborn, Sarafina lifted her by the scruff of her neck and carried her gently to bed.

The night passed slowly. Lionesses lay awake, gazing at the sky, or wept themselves into an exhausted sleep at last. Small groups gathered and spoke in low, fearful murmurs of what Scar's reign might portend for the pride. Everyone was aware of the huge empty space that Mufasa had occupied at his mate's side, and avoided that area of the den as though it were haunted. Sarabi sat by herself, looking naked without the presence of her husband and the small form of her cub curled tightly next to her.

For Nala it was strange and frightening to see the adults at such a loss. She and Simba had always trusted their parents to know everything, to take charge in any situation. The knowledge that grown-ups can be vulnerable too, the sight of tears from an adult and the helpless, uncertain shifting and milling of the pride had as great an effect on Nala as her friend's death. Nobody realised it, enveloped her and pressed her down. His speech done, Scar descended from his perch surrounded by a phalanx of hyaenas. The lionesses drew back as he passed.

Nala struggled free, hooking her claws into her mother's foreleg. "Please, someone tell me what happened?" she begged. "Where's Simba?"

The lionesses looked at one another doubtfully. Nala knew the look - it was the 'are they old enough to know?' expression that always made her and Simba mad at the grown-ups.

Sarafina laid a paw protectively on her daughter's head. "Tell us," she said sadly. "Tell us both."

Sarabi walked over to them, looking like a ghost. She seemed to have aged years since Nala saw her earlier that day, her flanks and eye-sockets hollow. The queen lay down so her face was level with the small cub.

"Nala, my honey. I'm so sorry. The wildebeest stampeded in the gorge. Mufasa was down there, and..." (she closed her eyes briefly as a shudder ran along her shoulders and back) "so was Simba."

"Is he badly hurt?" Nala asked anxiously. Sarafina folded her daughter to her chest. "Darling, he's dead."

Dead. The word sent a cold shock through Nala, as though she had plunged into the waterhole on a hot day. Cubs like her didn't die. Old lions died; new cubs were born dead and sometimes their mother died too. This Nala accepted. But Simba...her friend...no.

Sarabi led the sorrowful procession to the gorge. They didn't want Nala to come, she could tell, but she would not be left alone. She couldn't believe that it wasn't all a horrible joke; at any moment she expected Simba to pounce her from behind a rock with a cheerful cry of "Fooled ya!"

The body lying in the dust was so trampled and dusty it was barely recognisable as a lion. But Sarabi licked the still, cold muzzle until Mufasa's face was clean of blood and dirt and his fierce, noble expression revealed. His eyes were closed and his tongue protruded between his large white teeth. The body had already stiffened.

Nala felt the hair along her spine stand on end. Mufasa had been a regal lion but a jolly one too, full of life. He always had a kind word for the cheeky little cub who played with his son. To see him like this was too much for the young lioness. Grimacing, she turned aside and was sick.

Frightened and ashamed, she whimpered as her mother cleaned her. "It's all right, darling. It's perfectly natural. And nobody was looking at you," Sarafina reassured. The memory of what they were looking it hit Nala as another wave of nausea, and she gave a dry retch. She pictured her friend's body as his father's was, battered and ripped, and squeezed her eyes shut - but the image would not go away. Burying her head in her mother's chest, she pleaded "Mom, take me home. I don't want to see Simba."

"Ssh...we couldn't find him. He was so small, he must have been...oh, my precious!" The sudden death of the prince had brought home to Sarafina how fragile a young life is, and she was almost crushed by the love and anxiety she felt for her own little one. As though Nala