“What is it?”

“Try it and find out.”

Uzuri took a sporting chance and sampled the marrow. “Hey, this is not half bad!”

“Not half bad?? It’s one of the best parts!”

She smiled. “Go get the other leg and join me. I’m not used to eating alone.”

“Thanks, but Ajenti has the other leg. She deserves it.”

Uzuri smiled. “I take back most of the bad things I’ve said about you, Losara. I mean, it WAS dusty and it WAS our first hunt together.”

“You mean there will be others? After tonight?”

“You and I. Leave Pipkah and the others behind and we might catch something.”

She laughed uncomfortably. “That fool Pipkah! He got his job because he makes up stories about his own prowess as a hunter. Once he found a wounded rabbit and killed it. Every time he told the story, the rabbit got bigger and healthier. By the time he finished, it could shove the elephants aside at the water hole.” She looked down. “He made us look like fools out there! We’re good hunters, Uzuri. We’re not all like him, but all our best hunters were loyalists.”

“Loyalists?”

“Loyal to Amarakh, the true Roh’mach. Ber is one of the best. He’s a REAL hunt master. He had this move called Dhourba, the ring. But he gets stuck on guard duty in the East Meadow where NOTHING ever happens. All of our best hunters are on guard duty--Shenzi doesn’t trust them.

“Why not?”

“Ber doesn’t believe Shenzi is God’s anointed. A lot of them don’t.” Losara drew close and said in a whisper. “I’m one of them, frankly. Amarakh was a true follower of Roh’kash. She didn’t like lions very much, but at least she was honest about it, not like Shenzi. Hon, you can’t turn your back on that girl.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

“Amarakh looked like she smelled like she talked like she acted like she believed. And she believed in the true God, not in magic tricks and badger words. Like her or hate her, Amarakh was the real thing. She wouldn’t send a fool like Pipkah out there to lead a hunt, and she wouldn’t sass poor old Sarabi. Gods, what that lady’s been through, and all she gets from Shenzi is grief! And pardon me for saying so, but that King of yours is no Prekh Jakrel, either.”

Uzuri didn’t know who Prekh Jakrel was, but she got the general idea. She looked in Losara’s eyes. “You know something? I think you are the real thing too.” She stirred herself and rose, stretching and yawning. “The night is young. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Hunting. You and I. I’ll get you more than a legbone, I warrant.”

Losara was delighted. “Uzuri, if it’s just the two of us, let me teach you an old custom of our people. We have a blessing before the hunt that we don’t usually use before outsiders. I say ‘Bih ‘malan, Uzuri,’ and you answer, ‘Bih ‘malan, Losara.”

“I never thought I’d be speaking hyannic,” Uzuri said with an embarrassed grin. “Bih ‘malan, Losara.”

Losara smiled broadly, her eyes looking directly into Uzuri’s.

“And you say?”

“Oh, forgive me! Bih ‘malan, Uzuri.”

Ajenti poked her head through the grass. “It will take three of us to do the Crescent maneuver.”

“Yeah!” Losara wagged her tail and her ears perked up. “Anything you say, Ajenti!”

Pumbaa and Timon were walking through the forest with Simba tagging along at their heels. Every day for a lion cub is full of new discoveries, but Simba’s friends were especially prone to throw him a curve just when it seemed like he had them figured out.

The day was going slowly, however, and other than a few extra things to eat, there was not much worth staying awake to see. Simba yawned and started to flop down, when suddenly a tall bird stepped out of the brush. “Can you dig it?? The gruesome twosome!”

“Sefu!” Timon cried with obvious pleasure. “Hey, what’s shakin! Good to see you!”

“Good to be seen!” Sefu ogled Simba. “Who’s the cat, cat?”

“That’s Simba, no lion!”

“Oooh, good comeback!”

Sefu timidly patted Simba on the head, then took Timon aside. None too discretely, he said, “Hey cat, he’s the deluxe model. Comes with large protective devices called ‘folks’ that eat Meerkats for less than this, you dig?”

“The little guy’s in trouble. We found him on the desert.”

“What’s the story?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he wants to talk about it.”

“If it’s cool with him, it’s cool with me.”

Smiling broadly, Sefu stalked over to Simba on his lanky legs. “Yo, cubby! I’ve always wanted to be this close to a lion and live to tell about it. So have you always been this small?”

Simba thought for a moment, then he saw the mischievous look in Sefu’s eyes. “Oh, I get it!”

Timon said, “This is one hip hawk. One ravin raptor. One absurd bird! You ought to hear him groove.”

“What’s groove?” Simba asked.

“Show him, Sefu!”

Sefu waved his wings. “Just like that? Before the good vibrations?”

“Good vibrations?” Simba was confused.

“Yeah. Cloud nine. Seventh heaven. Peace, love and the distinct absence of major irritation.”

“Oh! In the groove!”

“Yeah.”

Simba thought. “How do you start good vibrations?”

“You think about your favorite things. When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad. I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad!”

“Just don’t sing it,” Timon said quickly. “Once was more than enough!” The meerkat thought a moment. “What you’re saying is that you CAN’T do a groove from a cold start.”

“Oh yeah??”

“Oh yeah!”

“Well give me room! I need space!”

Sefu stood atop a log that acted as an impromptu podium. He looked into the sky and began to sway slightly. “Oh, I can feel it coming, cats! It’s coming!”

Simba looked with fascination as the bird began to recite. Softly at first, but later with more volume and confidence:

Simba was fascinated. Sefu stopped, and Simba asked, “How does it end?”

“The story is being written. It comes from the top of your head, from the depths of your heart. You just open your mind and listen to the voices in your head. Listen to the wordless chatter of the leaves. Jump right in when you can. Timon, you add some to it.”

Timon stepped forward and threw out his arms. “Give me space to live, and dig it.”

Sefu listened carefully, and looked thoughtful. “Profound and very....very....uh....depressing. Let’s hear from the boy.”

Pumbaa pushed the reluctant Simba forward. “You can do it! Just make your mind a complete blank!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Timon griped. “You’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Now hush!” Sefu said. “Let him have at it.”

Simba looked awkwardly at his paws and cleared his throat.

He thought a few moments, and making the supreme effort, burst out with: