“You know I was there!” Zazu said, scandalized. “Tell them, Sire! Tell them!”

“I will NOT lie for you, you pathetic ball of fluff! Only your past record keeps me from killing you here and now!"

Zazu began to shake as all attention focused on him. "But I-"

The lionesses glared at Zazu. “How COULD you!” Sarabi said in a tear-choked voice. “That’s not like you, Zazu! You knew he was never to go there! I thought you loved him! Why, Zazu?? Why??”

Taka bared his teeth. "Listen to the anguish of a wife and mother! Had you been watching Simba as you were supposed to, he wouldn't have wandered into the gorge, would he?"

"Y-Yes, but-"

"And my brother wouldn't have had to go after him, would he?"

"N-No, but-"

Taka leaned close. "And IF you had done your job, they wouldn't be DEAD, would they??!!"

"S-Sire, please....” He whispered just low enough for Taka to hear: “I didn’t think you hated me that much!”

“You have no idea.” Taka stared at him with eyes like red coals. “So you wish I were a rug so when I got dirty, he could take me out and beat me??”

“Spare me!” Zazu shrieked. “Just let me go! Let me go and I’ll never trouble you again, I swear!”

"Shut up," Taka said, his voice dripping with contempt. "In view of your past service and the love which my brother held for you, I will not have you killed."

Zazu sighed, trembling, but jerked in alarm as a pair of hyenas took up station on either side of him.

"Instead, you will be confined for the rest of your life, where I can keep an eye on you as you reflect on your guilt and hopefully find forgiveness and mercy in Aiheu. For you shall NEVER find forgiveness nor mercy in me, not in this lifetime or a hundred lifetimes!" Taka leaned forward until his nose touched the hornbill's beak, his voice dropping to a murmur that only Zazu could hear. "And should you start any more trouble, I'll pluck out your feathers one by one and shove you in the waterhole to drown. Understand?"

Too terrified to speak, Zazu nodded rapidly.

CHAPTER 40: ALONE

Simba stirred in the cool morning air, feeling with a paw for his mother’s comforting presence. He opened an eye and glanced around. The awful truth dawned upon him that for the first time in his life, he was completely alone. As far as he could see all around was featureless sand.

He rose, stretching, and groomed himself in the pre-dawn quiet, the slight rasp of his tongue the only sound in the stillness. Holding forth with an enormous yawn, he began padding slowly across the dunes, his tiny paws leaving a pockmarked trail in the pristine sand as he walked slowly but steadily, face turned towards the darkened western sky, the gentle breezes of twilight ruffling his fur and tickling his whiskers with cool fingers.

But the cool did not last long. His shadow sprang into abrupt relief in front of him, harsh and outlined in red. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sun heaving its crimson bulk above the horizon. The temperature began to climb steadily as it rose higher in the sky, the cold dry winds becoming hot dry winds, the rays of the sun beginning to pierce him with anger and spite.

On the second day of Simba’s journey, he fought new enemies. Tiredness, hunger, thirst, hopelessness. The one thought that kept him going was his faith that friends lay to the west.

Panting in the dry air drained moisture from him. A sweat that did not cool him matted his fur and burned his eyes. He longed to feel firm earth beneath his feet again. The soft give of the sand made walking more difficult. His small feet scrabbled for purchase on even the smallest of dunes, and he had to struggle up one side, then slip down the other. He had daydreams about soft fragrant grass wet with morning dew, and stopping by the cistern to drink the cold, fresh water that collected from the rain.

His gait became unsteady. He stumbled along, unsure why there should be anything better to the west than there was to the south or north. He couldn’t go east--that he could NEVER do. The east was where his heart lay. The most desirable and inaccessible of things. His mother’s soft fur, and Aunt Uzuri’s quiet voice that said so much in so little. Perhaps someone was eating fresh meat. His stomach began to knot up and growl. Overhead the sun stared with its one hateful eye, willing the life from him step by step. Each breath sucked precious moisture from his small body. In the sky, vultures circled slowly, meeting his gaze with undisguised eagerness as he fought to remain standing. He stared at one, and watched its image separate into two, then slowly recombine as he fought to keep his fragile grasp on consciousness. The image separated again. He felt his legs collapse and the shock hitting the ground. “Aiheu,” he moaned, the sand rasping dryly against his cheek in a deadly caress. “Help me, Aiheu. I think I’m dying.”

He put his paw across his face and surrendered. Everything went dark....

CHAPTER 41: FRIENDS IN NEED

“Pumbaa, come ON,” Timon groaned. “The ground’s as dry as a bone, now; we’re not gonna find any more bugs out here.”

“I don’t know...” Pumbaa’s voice was filled with doubt. “We found that beetle a little while ago, remember?”

“‘A little while ago?!’ That was two hours ago! I’m fried!” Timon continued to gripe as the foraged listlessly among the cracked and dried flats. A brief rain had sprung up this morning, the dry ground greedily soaking up the moisture and driving the insects out in droves. The meerkat and warthog had delighted in this banquet, at least until the sun emerged again. The insects had vanished with the water, the ground drying into the haphazard mosaic that lay before them, baked hard now in the glaring sun.

Sighing, Timon leaned down to try again when faint movement caught his eyes. He skittered up Pumbaa’s back to perch atop his head, shading his eyes in the glare.

“H-Hey!” Pumbaa, laughed. “That tickles!”

“Hush!” Timon squinted. “A-HA! Buzzards!”

Pumbaa grimaced. “Ewww! I hate buzzards.”

“Pumbaa!” Timon tapped his friend’s head reproachfully. “We do not speak ill of those who might show us where to find some goodies.”

“Huh?”

“They might be giving us a pointer on where we might locate a leftover culinary delight!” Timon’s stomach growled in anticipation.

“Awwww!” Pumbaa looked downcast. “I was hoping they might show us where to find some food.”

The meerkat sighed. “Just head thataway.”

Pumbaa trotted off obligingly, heading towards the circling birds, who were beginning to descend, a sure sign that whatever they had been stalking was about to expire. Fresh meat! Timon shook the rough mane on Pumbaa’s shoulders with glee. “Oh boy oh boy! We’re gonna eat right today, pal, just you wait!”

Pumbaa halted suddenly, nearly sending Timon overboard. “Why do I have to wait?! Who says YOU eat first?!”

“No, no! Just forget it and head for the buzzards before they get the good stuff!” Timon seized Pumbaa’s ears and flicked them, kicking his heels into the warthog’s neck. “YAHHHH!!!”

Pumbaa accelerated, a horrendous war cry of his own issuing from his mouth as the two charged into the pack of jostling birds, sending them scattering in disarray, feathers flying as they squawked an indignant protest back at the two. Ignoring this, the duo checked around themselves for any malingerers, then relaxed, Timon chuckling at the sight.

“I love it!” Pumbaa snorted in mirth. “Bowling for buzzards!”

Timon guffawed. “Gets ‘em every time!” He proceeded to brush himself off as Pumbaa examined the carcass that lay at their feet. “Uh-oh. Hey Timon! You better come look. I think it’s still alive.”