"Are all of the birds the same?"

“Yes.”

“Every one?” Gur’bruk cocked an ear slightly. “How about the one in front?”

"I see it now. Most of them are black, but the one in front is red."

"That is your pain, Simba. See it fly away? He takes your pain with him. He is going far away, and he is not coming back. Do you feel the pain smaller?"

Simba's tense features softened. He had a relaxed smile. "Oh yeah. Oh that feels better! Make the bird stay away."

“I promise you we will. I had a little ban’ret like you in the past. When he hurted, I play the bird game with him. It made him feel better.”

“Where is your boy now? All grown up?”

“He go to died,” Gur’bruk said.

“That’s so sad. Gur’bruk, there are dark clouds in the sky now. It looks like a storm coming.”

“Yes, I feel it” Gur’bruk’s eyes misted up and a quiet tear trickled down his cheek. “His name was Gur’mekh. Simba is a pretty name. What does it mean?”

“Lion.”

“I think it fits you maybe.”

Timon moved forward as Kambra nosed Simba’s side again, her tongue flicking out for a second. “Hey! What’re you DOING--” He stared, gaping in astonishment as Kambra drew back and then plunged her muzzle inside Simba, her nose disappearing into him as if she were penetrating her reflection at a water hole.

“Oh my gods!” Timon wavered drunkenly and sat down hard, head swimming as he watched the impromptu operation in progress. There was no blood, and Simba certainly gave no sign of pain as he continued to stare into Gur’bruk’s eyes. Kambra pulled suddenly, and out came a pink growth which she discarded in the brush. Sitting back, she sighed satisfactorily. “All done.”

Timon glared at her suspiciously and ran over to Simba. Gritting his teeth, he felt around gingerly under the fur, expecting to find the matted wetness of blood and the ragged edge of a wound in his side.

Instead, he found nothing. he began combing through the soft fur, poking at the firm hide of the cub. “Where’d ya hide it?!”

Simba giggled slightly at the touch, and Gur'bruk smiled. “The game is over now. How do you feel, young ban’ret?"

Simba got up and shook off. "I feel hungry!"

Gur’bruk nuzzled him, as did Kambra.

Timon breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at Kambra. "I could just kiss you if you didn't eat carrion."

"I could just kiss you back if you did not eat the grubs."

"Good point." He patted her and pecked her cheek. "We owe you one."

“Owe me one what?” She thought for a moment. “Oh it’s a figuresque of speech.” She looked at Timon closely. “Now listen, old ban’ret. Fate the path goes--if you--how you say ‘ta’kher ohvi gabrukh....’” She stopped, putting her paw on his face and concentrating. “Your charge will find a glorious destiny,” she said in flawless Suricati.

Stunned, he dropped back into his native tongue. “I’d believe it. He’s a great kid.” Timon scratched behind his ear and shifted uneasily. “Tell me the truth: will the problem come back?"

"What is he eating?"

"Grubs and beetles, mainly."

"Oh gods! That's what caused it. You have to teach him how to hunt. Or at least how to scavenge."

"Scavenging we can do, but I'm no carnivore."

"Bugs are not what Roh'kash meant for lions to eat. You must change his lifestyle, at least a little. There are some herbs you can try to stall the problem, but someday you'll have to let him be what he was born to be, a hunter."

“I guess so. But hey, where did you guys come from? I mean, you’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.” Kambra closed her eyes and sighed. “But where we came from, we cannot go.”

Timon fell silent as he looked at her, recognizing a kindred soul of one who has been cast out. Yet he knew somehow that this was much more than a simple outcast before him. Gur’bruk came to stand beside Kambra, kissing her face and nuzzling her neck. Timon regarded them soberly, seeing the comfort they took from one another, but there was an evident look of sadness on their faces that was at once noble and poignant.

Reverting to common speech he said, “Look, why don’t you guys stick with us? I mean, we don’t have a home either. Not really.”

“We go where Roh’kash sends us, like the restless wind.”

“In a way, so do we.”

Pumbaa looked at them wonderingly. “Will we ever see you again?”

“If you need us once more, you will see us.” Without explanation, he looked up and said, “Yolanda, we paid the debt.”

The two vanished back into the undergrowth in a quiet rustle of leaves. Timon and Pumbaa stared after them for a long moment, until they were distracted by a cough behind them. They turned to see Simba rising unsteadily on all four legs, a look of disgust on his face as he spat into the dust.

“Yech! My mouth tastes like five day old pond scum!”

“Must’ve been something you ate,” Timon said dryly. “C’mon, kid, let’s go get some water.”

“Yeah!”

From the concealment of the lush undergrowth, Gur’bruk and Kambra watched the trio meander away, the cub leaning against Pumbaa’s shoulder as Timon perched on his head, directing the way to the water hole. Gur’bruk blinked as his thoughts raced unspoken to his mate. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”

“They’ll be fine.” She smiled at him. “Have faith, love.”

“I trust Roh’kash implicitly. THOSE two...”

“...are fulfilling their destiny. Just as the cub will one day, with their help.” She looked after the odd trio, her smile fading. Gur’bruk felt an odd feeling emanating from her, something akin to awe. He looked at her curiously, and she met his gaze, her eyes shining. “I told the meerkat the child was destined for great things, and he is. When I removed the growth, I was caught up in his Ka. He’s the one true king! And he is the anointed.”

“The anointed? What are you saying??”

“He bears the mark of Duhbrek. Roh’kash had chosen him from his birth to bring freedom to the captives and mercy to the oppressed.”

“And we were sent to save his life!” Gur’bruk closed his eyes and muttered, “Thank you, Lord!”

She fell quiet, trembling. “Yes. We have paid the price. Husband, he has set us free!”

“I think so, dear. But we must wait on the Lord. Roh’kash will send us a sign.”

“What kind of sign?”

“I don’t know. But when it happens, we’ll know.”

Just then they heard a rustling in the undergrowth. “Muti? Maleh?”

Gur’bruk gasped. “My gods, it’s the sign!”

Kambra cared nothing for signs. She shrieked, running to Gur’mekh’s ka. As tears streamed from her eyes, she rubbed him and smothered him with kisses, yipping a string of wordless utterances that were wrongly called “hyena laughter” by those who did not understand. Raising up on her back legs, she wrapped her forearms around his neck, pushing him to the ground and nuzzling him desperately. “My precious little boy!” she finally choked out between her sobs. “Gur’bruk, it’s him!”