The Lion King: Üügaen Khin'im Dhülür
Daaräsitani
—
(Iz bä'äsh, TLKFan. Sägh'aen shülüüksahr, djäl'älim vinimüür aj-bäsh'shishiküüri… vo shish'ai'ish i-ai'ulüm.
Adi Dhülür, bä'äsh vo, bä'äsh vwei. Øghøn hüür, The Lion King: Üügaen Khin'im Dhülür.)
—
The distant east: where the sea met the plains and the mangroves sheltered the little multicolored fish that sometimes swam as far west as Pride Rock itself. In the south there were a series of low rolling hills that led to the Savannah, the bread basket of the Pride Lands and the primary hunting grounds of his race.
Everything the light touched was his. And the light touched everything, even the dusty lands where the elephants had once laid to rest their dead. The hyenas had long since scattered from there, fleeing before the gaze of the Sun and those who owned whatever its rays touched.
Of course they fled; they were cowards. The only question he'd had, when he'd found of their departure, was why or how they'd taken the bones of the elephants with them.
Maybe that was water under the bridge now. Maybe now what mattered was the brilliant red-orange of the sun, and the color it made his mane when he stood up straight and tall and let the wind run its fingers through his fur. The hyenas were the past; he was the present, and the future of his pride was bright.
"Dad?"
Ah. The future of the pride had come to greet him.
Mufasa turned to the little tan boy at his side. The heir to the Pride Lands, the future king—and his son.
"Dad, do you hear that? It sounded like music," Simba said. "Except it was… off." He shivered. Snuggled against his father's side.
Mufasa smiled and held his son close. "I didn't hear anything, Simba. It must have just been the wind," he lied. "Now tell me, how are your lessons going?"
"Harder, now that Rafiki is gone," Simba said. "Uncle Scar's a good teacher, but he's so weird serious. When's Rafiki coming back?"
So, he still didn't know. That was good. It was hard enough when Scar himself had come to him and explained—tried to explain how Rafiki had been spotted ranting at a tree in a language no one could understand. And then, according to eye witnesses, he'd turned on them—cursed them in a voice far too deep and far too loud to be his own—before running into the distance.
That was five days ago.
"Sometimes, things happen," Mufasa finally said. "At the time, it might be hard to understand… But in the end, it'll all be for the best." A pause. A smile. "Rafiki will be back when he's ready, son. I promise."
An ear-to-ear grin from the little lad. Mufasa hugged him again and then sent him off to bed. He continued to oversee his kingdom, everything the light touched, while contemplating those places in the world the light never touched.