The meerkat drew up involuntarily. “Yeesh!” Steeling himself, he meandered over, trying to look nonchalant. After all, Pumbaa WAS watching.

“Allrighty, whatta we got here?” Bending low, he sniffed the air carefully. The scent filled his nostrils; something exotic, but vaguely familiar. But alive, he could tell that much. Shrugging, he wriggled under the paw that covered the creature’s face and strained, lifting...

...and saw the soft furry features, the whiskers, and the tip of one ivory fang protruding over the lower lip. His blood ran cold as he dropped the paw, staggering back in terror.

“Jeez, it’s a LION!”

CHAPTER 42: GAZELLE EYES

“I knew it. I just knew it!” Timon said with disgust. “I knew if we carried him to water, you’d want to feed him. And if you fed him, you’d want to keep him. Do you know what lion cubs do? Huh, DO you??”

Pumbaa looked at Timon with mist in his gazelle eyes. “No, Timon. What do they do?”

“They get bigger. It doesn’t happen all at once, see, but one day you’ll wake up....” He straddled and expanded to make his point. “....and there will be this greaaat biiiig lion as far as the eyes can see! He won’t be little and cute then, but he’ll still be our problem.”

“Keep it down, Timon. He’ll hear you!”

Timon glanced around anxiously. “Yeah. And I bet he’s hungry, too!”

“Now there you go again! He’s only a little kid, and he’s so sad and lost and helpless!” Tears began to spring up in Pumbaa’s eyes. “Just because you’re smarter than I am doesn’t mean you’re always right. I mean, not always, you know.”

“And I suppose you got it all figured out?”

“No. But while we’re wasting time figuring it all out, that little guy needs our help!”

Once in a while Pumbaa said something that made Timon stand up and take note. “All right. Answer me this, then. Let’s say we keep him. Down, Pumbaa, I said IF we keep him, what will he eat?”

Tears misted up in Pumbaa’s eyes again. “If we DON’T keep him, what will he eat?” A tear ran down the warthog’s cheek. “I gotta live with myself, Timon. Don’t make me choose between you and him. Please??”

“You can’t walk out on me!”

“I can’t walk out on him!”

Adopting a lion cub was a big decision, and it took Pumbaa a lot of discussion and a great deal of pouting to overcome Timon’s reluctance. What Aiheu did not give the warthog in eloquent speech, he made up for in sheer determination. And when Pumbaa really made up his mind and looked at Timon with his gazelle eyes, he usually got his way.

All in all, the benefits outweighed the disadvantages, Pumbaa figured; they would have to raise a youngster (a task Timon especially loathed), but the return on their investment would be enormous. Simba would make a terrific bodyguard and a good friend. Besides, Timon would not have to endure Pumbaa’s pleading looks.

“OK,” Timon said at last. “I’m going to regret this, but we’ll keep the kid.”

“Hooray!!”

The advantages of such a relationship were obvious, and the two readily fell to in making the cub feel right at home.

Simba, however, had no such preconceptions. He embraced the carefree lifestyle of “Hakuna Matata” the two preached of, somewhat reluctant at first, but more and more easily as the day wore on. It was difficult to overcome the inhibitions his parents had instilled in him; he found it hard to accept the fact that he was pretty much free to do what he pleased, eat what he pleased...even the simplest of niceties were not required. The first time he belched and covered his mouth with a paw, saying “Excuse me!” with a horrified expression on his face, Timon had gone into gales of laughter.

The cub reflected on this as he lay on his back, paws outstretched, rubbing one ear lazily as he blinked in the late afternoon sun. He tracked its progress, half interested, thinking it was funny how much the sun looked just as it did when he had been at home.

Home.

He rubbed the fur on his belly uncomfortably, remembering sitting next to Sarabi, her warm tongue bathing him as he lay beside her, sated from his last meal, watching the same sun go down in the Pride Lands. He watched as the fiery orb doubled, then trebled in his vision as quiet tears ran down his cheeks. His heart sank along with the sun, his spirits falling and turning dark with the sky around him. The stars made their appearances one by one, standing stalwart against the night, but no such light remained in Simba’s soul. Sniffing quietly, he tilted his head back to look at the depthless expanse of the universe above.

“God? I don’t know if you feel like listening to me...but I wanted to ask a favor.” His jaw trembled, and his face drew down in deep lines as he struggled to keep control. “Would you please watch out for my pride? I mean, Uncle Scar isn’t that strong and he has that bad back...he needs help. And help Aunt Uzuri catch a lot of food so Nala doesn’t get hungry or anything.” Despite his struggles, he began to cry again, his voice wavering unsteadily as he rushed to finish. “And watch out for Mom, okay? And if you can...please tell her...I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” His head fell forward and he buried it under his forepaws, shaking with the terrible force of his grief.

A sharp trill sang from the grass next to him, and he jumped, crying out as he backed away. A second trill answered, and son the grass was full of the droning sound of crickets, humming away busily as they sang their strange calls to one another. Fire blossomed in the grass as a small white glow emerged, flitting about aimlessly. Simba twirled in agitation as he was suddenly surrounded by dozens of tiny points of light, miniature suns that gleamed with a cold brilliance. The fireflies darted about his head, one alighting on his nose and jittering frenziedly as it signaled its fellows. The cub yelped in fear, jumping up and running across the clearing to the cover of the nearby bushes where Timon and Pumbaa were making themselves comfortable for the night’s slumber.

Pumbaa saw him scamper in, shaking furiously. “What’s the matter, Simba?”

“I’m scared!” he burst out. “I wanna go home!”

“Aww, man...” Timon groaned.

Pumbaa shushed him sternly, then turned back to the terrified cub. “C’mon, little fella. Just lie down and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I CAN’T sleep! Those THINGS’ll get me!” Simba ran over to Pumbaa and huddled against his comforting bulk, shivering as he stared at the dark jungle around them, seeing movement in every shadow.

“Poor kid.” Pumbaa grunted unhappily. “Scared of the dark?”

Simba nodded.

“Huh! Me too! But ya know what?”

“What?”

“My mom used to tell me stories to help me get to sleep, and I remember ‘em all! Wanna hear one?”

Simba nodded, wide eyed, and settled in close, much to Pumbaa’s surprise. “Would you tell me one? Please?”

“Sure. Let me see...” Pumbaa grimaced, thinking hard, then smiled. “Oh yeah! This one was my favorite.

“Once there was a great leader among the elephants. His name was Mongo Earthshaker because he was so big that when he walked you could feel the ground shake. Well one day Mongo was so thirsty that he ran down to the watering hole, even though he had hurt his leg only three days before. His mate Zesta warned him that he was headed for trouble because of his leg, but he hurried anyway. Well, the water was so cool and refreshing that when he drank it he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Then he went back to his friends.”

“Then what happened?”

“How should I know? That’s the end of the story. But there is another one about him that tells about the time he took a mud bath. You’ll never guess how it ends!”

“He cooled off, didn’t he?”

“Darn! You’ve heard it already.” Pumbaa looked alarmingly at Simba’s dour expression and put a foreleg around the cub. “Look here, little guy. You lay next to me. If you’re afraid, don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”