But We're Talking Kings And Succession
In the beginning, there was a Wise Monkey, visiting somewhere Ancient, during a Strange African Night:
He had felt the heaviness of the coming conversation for days now. The meteor shower was making thin scars across the night. Wind flew wildly and the trees gossiped of a something on the way. Usually the trees talked of crazy things, but they had it on good account this time.
Rafiki would need to be alone to translate these coming messages.
The old rainbow faced baboon was currently sitting by a lake, peering closely at what the meteors were doing in the sky and how the lake reflected them. Many disturbing signs were coming across rapidly, but also, an overwhelming sense.
The true king's journey was ripe to begin.
Rafiki sat down in the wet dirt, stroking his beard in concentration and also mystery. Usually watching from the lake's shores helped to understand, but now it just added to the trouble. The night was full of vicious weather which worsened by the second. On his way back home the next day the spirits were still aflame, repeating their foretelling to him over and over, following him, chasing him, urging him on. The rain was almost flying horizontally!
Rafiki felt cold, even when back in his nest inside the ancient baobab tree. The ancestors still swirled around in the air, and then continued to burn the spirit of the true king into the back of his eyelids. One lean shape, deadly and strong and covered in blood. All he ever did was stand in the dark, head bowed. The shadows would move and squeal; lions, baboons, birds, antelope, zebra, elephant, hog...
The circle of life, Rafiki mumbled with estatic glee. The circle of life more clear and alive that he had ever seen it. Not for a thousand years had the world been in such harmony. But still, everything was drenched in blood, and Rafiki realised that there would have to be war before harmony. He was not looking forward to the day that this true king arrived, and his dear friend Mufasa had to bear the storm. True king's only arose in times of great rebellion and change, usually because they were the very catalyst for it all. Nothing the ancestors had told him tonight was good, it all made his heart ache, yet they chattered and danced longer than usual. The stars were sparkling in some secret joke.
The baboons's mind wondered to the young prince. What would come of him? The true king could come tomorrow, or take years to arrive. But within his life, for sure, otherwise the visions would not be as clear. Would it even be Mufasa that rules the pride lands when the true king come? Rafiki felt the potent potential in Simba, but also the recklessness and uncontrollable spirit that leaked out of ever pore. Rafiki did love the prince dearly, but sometimes the character of Simba was so vibrant Rafiki could only describe it as a cesspool of rawness. While he wished life could be easy, and that the energetic golden cub could be the true king all along and he could easily inherit both his right of birth and of spirit, Rafiki knew it was not so. One day a lion with the right of birth would have to battle a lion with right of nothing but spirit, and the true king would be the champion. Perhaps the blood he was drenched in, was Simba's? Rafiki did not want to meditate on the nightmare anymore, but the visions and notions hounded him as he tried to made some medicines.
He had felt the presence of the true king back by the Ndutu lake. Sees him every time he tries to close his eyes. The true king was a ferocious beast, coiled tight around a vast knowing. His outside was quiet, but the inside was simmering power.
A Confused Child, in his Nightmare:
Hot breath fanned down his back. Nala was screaming, and the creatures with the crowd of fangs were chuckling. Simba stretched out into the dark, his little claws scrambling over stone as smooth as ice. He tried to call out, but his throat had closed up. He couldn't move - something was holding him down - his throat was hollow and slick with blood. He was running, Nala panting and slowly falling behind him. They were bigger and stronger and savage, they would kill Nala where she stood, no matter that she was just a baby lioness. He needed to save her.
Simba leapt forward, Nala rushing along beside him. They tried to scramble up the bones but as they jumped, the rotting bodies beneath them ripped, and they fell down into the gaping mouths of the rank hot breaths.
Simba woke up soaked and shivering. Rain was leaking through the cave roof and had pooled where he'd slept. The nightmare still played in front of his eyes, even as he traced the outlines of the older cubs that surrounded him. If he looked far into the back of the den he could see his parents asleep atop the high ledge. His dad was outlined in the night time's purple light, his huge body all sprawled out and thick mane billowing in all directions. Any cub would be eased by the sight of their protective father, but Simba felt even sicker. If his father hadn't come in time...
Cubs as young as him should be sleeping safe between their parents for at least another five months, but ever since that night Simba felt like he had disgraced himself. He felt unworthy of the nest between the King and Queen, of the spot upon the royal rock. One day he will be king, but Simba seriously doubted that. He couldn't protect Nala, he couldn't even save himself. How was he supposed to protect everything the light touches?
Ever since that day, his father teaches him more and more, but it feels like the boundless energy and innocence of before has left him for good. He will pretend to be chirpy and unaffected, but if the constant nightmares of Nala being ripped apart before him wasn't enough, then the deep ache of being weak and useless completed the sense of being pathetic well enough.
He had taken to sleeping with the older cubs, the ones that had left their parent's sides and made a little corner of the cave just for them. They had tufts of manes coming through, and the lionesses already had kill tallies. Next to them he felt like a newborn cub. His mother still carried him around and bathed him for star's sake! Nala thought that it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she wasn't the bloody future king with the pressure of protecting everything the light bloody touches now was she?
Simba moped around for awhile before getting up and shaking himself off, making sure to groom his fur so he wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of his mother doing it herself. It was still dark, but a pale, weak blue was starting to halo everything near the mouth of the cave. Simba knew that meant that the sunrise was about to begin. He walked out of the den, focusing on the way he moved, trying to prowl like the seasoned hunters did and move sleek and quiet like the fog that blanketed the Pride Lands. The golden cub silently sat on the edge of Pride Rock. His tail curled over his cold paws daintily. His eyes scanned the land with an intensity the cub himself was not aware of. Deep black eyes rimmed in burning red studied all, from the dew that gathered on the wet rock beneath him to the orange creeping over the horizon.
Restless sleep were making his eyes look weary and old, and as he sat on the royal throne and watched over his kingdom just as all the kings had done before him, the smallness of the cub became apparent, and the size of the burden he carried was nauseating.
The top of the sun finally appeared, and light hit the Pride Lands in a flood. Pride Rock was set on fire and his coat glowed, the stirring animals casted long, lean shadows that danced across the flat plains. Flowers and wings unfurled, the clouds that raced across the sky looked like they were jewelled in gold and Simba felt the maturity he had gained over the last self-pitying weeks sting him sharply. He would never have had the patience or the weariness to sit and watch the sunrise and the Pride Land's awake, but here he was now, content and observing his father's kingdom with apt interest.
He wasn't going out with his dad today. Since today there was 'dangerous business about' for the King. Instead, for the first time since the incident in the graveyard, Simba was doing what he used to do before everything began... he would be a cub again. He was to play with the other cubs as the lionesses watched them from the shade. It felt weird to be back in a place that was his entire existence a few weeks ago, but now felt like a foreign idea.
He had changed; he was no longer Simba the lion cub. He was Simba the future king. And newly aware of the responsibilities he had been carrying since birth.
He heard heavy footfalls behind him and knew without looking that it was his dad. Simba never used to spend much time with his father, the massive lion used to leave before dawn and return after dark. Usually whenever the King was at Pride Rock, the Prince was fast asleep from a tiring day of chasing lizards through the grass.
But ever since Mufasa took him out to see the sunrise for the first time, and told him who he was and they were and what this place is, and every since the night in the graveyard, Mufasa has been taking his young son everywhere with him. Simba knew the heavy, but perfectly placed steps of his father.
"You're up early." His father stated as he came to sit beside his miniscule son. Simba shrugged and looked at his paws. Trying to school his expression into one of more cub like excitement.
"I suppose I've just gotting used to watching the sunrise."
His father rumbled deep in his chest, showing his amusement at Simba's answer. The flapping of wings annoucing Zazu's arrival, and he looked up to check that he was correct. The studious hornbill was currently perched on his father's broad shoulder, looking down at him with curious eyes.
"I thought you weren't coming today," he said, to which his father stopped from licking his mane and said "he's just watching the sunrise."
Simba looked between the two, their expressions were harder to read that usual and the clear trust between the lion and the hornbill was evident. Simba, not for the first time, wondered what sort of dangerous duties faced the King and his steward today, exactly. He had been told little, and Zazu had been mysteriously quiet that afternoon. He was even worse today as he scanned the sky restlessly for any messenger birds on their way.
Later his mother strolled out of the den, stretching herself as she went. She licked his head once, but did no more besides raise an eyebrow high at his new neat appearance. She groomed and nuzzled her mate and wished the hornbill good luck as the two finally set out into the Pride Lands. She turned and smiled down at Simba as Mufasa and Zazu disappeared into the dancing shadows and orange sunlight.
"So I guess you're back with me today. Excited to get a day off? I should be nice to be back spending time with your friends again."
Simba nodded. He had hardly spoken to Nala at all since the graveyard incident. He wondered how she felt about it, that he was now as absent as the King. Coming and going like a shadow. He wondered if she had known he was the future king all along, or had been as oblivious as he had been. He got a little excited at the prospect of spending the day with Nala, but still, he was the youngest cub in the entire pride, and he had a feeling today was just going to open his eyes more as to how pathetic he was, and how stupid he used to sound with all his big talk of fighting off hyenas if he ever met them and taking down a buffalo if they just gave him a chance.
He walked back into the den close by his mother's side. His eyes downcast to the rock. Ancient kings had long ago worked the stone smooth with their countless footsteps, but still Simba was so sleepy he managed to stumble.
The Sun and the Night, somewhere Dusty and Hot:
Mufasa and Scar strolled along through the lush grass, their manes intermingling as they bumped shoulders and padded side by side. Zazu had flown off to relay a message, leaving the brothers alone. The two beasts leaned into one another when serious business was being discussed. In times of danger to the pride, the two males would often work closely together.
Mufasa was a brute, testing the limits of how big his species could grow, his muscles seemed to fight and roll under his golden coat with every confident movement he made. Next to the golden example, Scar looked like a shadow – a dangerous shadow - but a thin shadow nonetheless.
Mufasa paused to study the horizon with an intent look so focused, that Scar just had to roll his eyes silently. Magic? Senses? Instinct? Or was it a kingly knowledge only the King himself was privy to that caused his brother to root himself to the spot and study the empty horizon? God knows, he did it enough times, there had to be a reason.
The golden king's tail started to swipe, the only outward sign that he had become agitated. His shadowy brother walked a few paces and flopped down in the grass like a boneless carcass. Leaves became entangled in his wild black mane as he rolled and rubbed against the scratchy ground. He paused and sat up quickly, observing his brainless brother.
"Mufasa what could you possibly be looking at?"
The golden brother's tail stilled at the voice of his companion, but he did not answer until many heartbeats later.
"The antelope are fighting."
"The rut has started?" Scar asked, mildly curious. He tried to watch the horizon again just as his brother did, but he couldn't see anything fighting, anything moving, anything alive at all, for that matter.
"It is too soon."
"Oh, what's it to us, the bucks fight because they got some fire in their blood and suddenly you got to leap off and make things right. Honestly Mufasa, why do you care?" Mufasa tore his gaze from the horizon, where Scar could now see a distant swirl of flying dust, marking where the bucks must be fighting. "Perhaps they were just practicing?" Scar said with a rascally look on his face. Mufasa fixed him with a levelled stare.
"I care because I am King, Scar,"
"Oooooh, that's riiiight. Silly me, I forgot that it was your birth right to boss every individual creature around. I feel so foolish now." He made a feint of being embarrassed, a quiet growl sounded from deep in his brother's rib cage and Scar smirked in himself as he threw himself back onto the ground in a carless sprawl. Sometimes he made it too easy for Scar.
"Let's check the watering hole." Mufasa ordered before walking off with a flick of his ears. Scar growled deep in his chest, annoyed. Forget that he was being forced against his will to help Mufasa and his party of lionesses and hawks, to locate some gang of bulls that had been terrorising everything in their path as they travelled north.
Scar twirled around and flipped back onto his feet, shaking the loose white dust of his homeland off his dark coat. He looked around for his brother and saw the red maned King walking off.
Because of Mufasa's marching stride, and Scar's dragging, in-no-hurry-whatsoever-thankyou pace, the distance between them grew. They were walking together; honestly, this is what the brothers defined as being together – even though they became featureless lumps in one another's view. Scar muttered and prowled through the grass lands, tracing the sent trial of his brother. Stopped here to scent mark the ground, halted here to talk to some birds, started jogging here to catch up to a gazelle he had recognised. Scar did no such thing, instead he glared holes into anything that dared to cross his path.
Annnd, there we go. Scar had lost Mufasa. Bound to happen really. The wind picked up here where the land raised, and the smell of prey saturated the area.
Scar let out three quiet roars; annoyance quite evident in his tone, the moan that they made echoed across the grasslands that surrounded him, a flock of tiny sandy birds were startled into flight some yards away when the sound washed over them.
The unique booming roar of the King replied from down in the gully a yard in front of where Scar stood. Scar started for it in a lazy wandering gait, sour insults being mumbled under his breath as he planned what sort of earful he would give his brother. Just wondering off like that, the nerve! Scar didn't even want to be here, he could have been in his nice cool cave, sleeping away the heat of the day as he always did. As any sane animal did. His big paws dragged heavily in the dirt as he yawned, tongue curving daintily in his dagger lined mouth. He was even sleepier than usual, eyes sagging quite a bit because of his late night meeting with the hyenas. It was no quick trip to go all the way beyond the border of Mufasa's seemingly endless domain and come all the way back before sunrise. But it was worth it, what a cunning plan he had made- oh! Riiiiiight…his cunning plan.
As Scar came to the ledge of the gully, he paused and looked down into the howled out once-river. The wind threw his pitch black mane into tangles around him as he looked down on to where his brother sat, Scar watched the King with an absolutely unreadable expression. His clay brown coat was still dusted with the fine white dirt, and his claws were working slowly, making scratches in the shifting pebbles beneath them. The plan, the plan…
Yeah, be prepared.
Yeah-heh... we'll be prepared, heh.
...For what?
For the death of the king.
Why? Is he sick?
No, fool- we're going to kill him. And Simba too
Down below him Mufasa sat with (oh of course, he should have guessed) the antelope who had been fighting before. Well, he didn't actually know, but Scar assumed as much. Or maybe friends of the antelope fighting? Employed to deliver a message, perhaps? The fools weren't even the countless gnu whose migration controlled life on the savannah - why on earth Mufasa wastes his time with irrelevant lesser species such as these antelope was beyond Scar.
They looked like the gnus, with the twisted short horns and the long muzzles. Same size too, could stare a zebra in the eye, though they did not compare to the muscle and considerable bulk of the gnu. They lacked the blacky blue coat as well, with no long white beards full of snarls hanging from their chins. Kongoni, the name came to him, the gnu's fine boned and light footed, cream coated cousins.
They were young, Scar thought. Surveying them with his green, deadly gaze. Horns half as splendid as their species grew, not many scars, lanky with spurts of growth. Four of them, fumbling around one another as they tried to absorb Mufasa's every word, awe clear on their faces.
Oh bother, just what Mufasa needs, some easily impressionable adolescents making him feel like a bloody ancestor descended from the twinkling bum holes of the night. The kongoni had probably never seen the King in person before, probably never been hunted by a lion before. Idiots, gathering around an apex killer like cubs, jugulars within a millisecond of being torn open. Gods, this is what one predator to every million of prey resulted in. No respect for the lions. Soon they'll be questioning whether they even need to listen to us. And Scar knew for a fact that quite a fair number were. Why do we need a lion king? Why do we even need a king?
Scar decided to fix that, and made a great show of leaning so that he seemed to impose over the gully.
"Mufasa!" He called out, capturing their attention. Just how he liked it, center stage. "We're looking for killer bulls, not awkward kongoni," he teased, and with a simple gathering of his muscles he leapt straight off the edge of the gully and down into its pit, one smooth, elegant, calculated movement. Like running water, he purred to himself as he prowled over the many rocks and potholes which littered the area, eyes fixing on the kongoni bucks each in turn.
They shuffled… restless… unsure…but not willing to leave the King's presence yet, not scared enough to do the smart thing and run like the meals that they are.
"Scar," Mufasa greeted him in a displeased voice, clearly seeing what he was trying to do. "These are the ones responsible for the early battles; I am just explaining to them the significance of their actions." The four boys stood like statues watching the darker lion with the chilling smile slink closer and closer. One flinched, taking a step back. Mufasa turned to them, distressed by their distress.
Wimp.
"I shall be going now, thank you for your time and understanding young kongoni, I hope to see you all with your own herds in the future." The antelope offered their quick, squeaky voiced farewells and staggered over the rocks of the gully as they clambered up, out and quickly away, their restless bellows and moos heard on the wind as they galloped off.
Che, herds of their own, those pimpled, weak bellied adolescents will be flat out getting a lion interested in them let alone a lady.
"Scar why do you always do this?" Mufasa growled at him.
"What? I don't do it all the time." Scar defended, slinking up and out of the gully with far more grace than the young kongoni bucks.
"Would it kill you to be friendly for at least-"
"Friendly? Is that what you want Mufasa? To be friends? We aren't their friends Mufasa, we aren't the god damn herd mates to these pathetic antelope. We're their rulers!" Scar looked to where the bucks were disappearing into specks. "And they're our lunch." He added, feeling himself start to droll.
"That's quite enough Scar," Mufasa thundered. The bigger lion leap up the gully's bank and walked so close that Scar instinctively shielded away, his brother's mammoth jaws within inches.
"I'm their ruler." Mufasa simply stated with a hard glare. It was all Mufasa needed to say, and he knew it too. The larger, ideal male – the King – turned and strode off to the distant shade of a solitary tree which grew like a stranger in the ocean of grass, dust baths and shaky mirages.
Mufasa flopped down in the shade, licking his paws clean as he waited for the upset and sulking Scar to amble his way up to his side.
"Why did you even bring me on this patrol anyway." Scar asked bitterly. "Its not like you needed extra muscle, I'm more mane then I am muscle." Scar's shadowed and heavily lidded eyes glowed dangerously bright as he mocked himself.
"I told you, because coalitions need to keep strong if they want to protect their pride." Mufasa told him, with a voice far too please with himself.
"Next time you suggest such a thing, I will kill myself." With that Scar sunk into the dirt, cooled by the protective shade. Mufasa chuckled, Scar knew it was an act - they had completely polar senses of humour.
"Is it really that bad?" Mufasa asked him.
Scar pretended to think about Mufasa's question.
"Ahh… yes. Yes it is." Mufasa paused in his licking, huffing a breath so great it sent little leaves skittling into the air. The King rested his head on his paws as he prepared to nap in the pleasant shade, safe from the burn of midday as they waited for Zazu to return with news. Scar agreed with this, his own eyelids falling as he lied down on his side.
"There was a reason, actually."
Scar pried his eyes open.
"What?"
"I need to ask you a favour." Mufasa looked troubled, serious, like he had been planning this conversation. This was bound to be interesting, if not devastating to his ego. Mufasa's thought out conversations were always about how Scar wasn't as great as Scar thought, which dampened the day quite a bit. As if the almighty King was without flaws! But of course, one does not point out the flaws of a King. He simply sits pretty and waits for the idiot to fall of his precious rock ledge or something equally typical of Mufasa.
"The King coming to his naughty, disgrace of a brother for favours. What has the world come to?"
"It's about Simba."
"Ah, the royal hairball. What's he done? Offended the rhino prince again? Pissed on one of the baboon's ancient spirit fruits? Annoyed the herds so much they left early? Gods knows I would."
Mufasa tactically ignored Scar's dramatically said comments and carried on unchanged.
"It's became clear to me after the graveyard incident that he shouldn't be wondering the pride lands alone with just a hornbill to protect him." Mufasa was looking at his paws as he spoke about his ridiculously treasured son.
"He's got the golden coat of a King to protect him Mufasa, you and I both know that's more than enough." Indeed they did, Scar was sickened by the look of pity on Mufasa's face. "But I suppose the cheetahs are looking more shifty than usual…"
"The cheetahs are not the problem, Scar. You know that. It's the hyenas, everywhere I turn their flooding over the borders, their stealing kills off of hunters who worked for their meals, they are violating laws, they are not playing their roles and are breaking the circle of life."
The precious circle of life, if Scar had a hair for every time Mufasa went on about it he would be a walking puff ball by now. Probably could just roll from place to place.
"What crimes have they committed?" Scar asked, wonder what his hyenas friends were getting up to. These were his loyal subjects after all.
"A few days ago a zebra was killed while she was giving birth, in plain day light. Many creditably sources say they starting eating her while she was still alive."
Scar put on a convincing display of being appalled. Mostly because he was.
"What is that, two, three violations of the pride land rules?"
"One rule and two laws; Scar," and then, in a move that Scar rarely saw from Mufasa, he swore. "They're fucking driving me nuts. On top of that they attempt to kill my son! I can't have cubs like Simba and Nala wondering around with a bird as their only form of protection."
"So… you want me… to baby sit?"
"It's your responsibility, Scar. Lionesses hunt and lions protect the pride; it's the roles we play in the great circle of life. These cubs are the future of this pride, and Rafiki sees troubled times ahead. The pride needs to be as strong as it possibly can." Mufasa was growing tired with him, Scar could tell. But he wasn't just going to accept! Chaperoning cubs around all day, putting up with the annoying prince was hard enough during the scarce amount of time Scar spent at pride rock, now he had to bring the cub under his wing. The kid could talk a vulture off a rotting elephant corpse goddamn. Shouldn't there be trained professionals for this sort of thing or something?
"Why can't you do it? You're the bloody King of everything the light bloody touches."
"Scar this is your responsibility!" Mufasa snarled, lifting off the ground a bit as he roared. With a shaky breath Mufasa settled back in the dirt. Scar realised that his own face was twisted into a vicious snarl and he had risen as well, quickly, he tried to relax his body language and consider how this development could help 'the plan'.
"It is your responsibility as a male of this pride to protect its members and its land. I am also a male of the pride, true, but I am also King of the pride lands, and I have just as much responsibility to the herds and the orphans and the weak and strong and the wellbeing of the grass land as I do to-"
"Okay, I get it. Yeesh, I'll do it, just give me a break on all the Kinglyness." He laid his head down in a huff, refusing to look at Mufasa. He could just feel the oaf's grateful smile anyway, so it's not like it helped.
But in reality – this played into 'the plan' perfectly.
"Listen, Simba really looks up to you, his 'cool' uncle and all that," Mufasa snorted at the notion, showing exactly what he thought of that. "He's the only cub brave enough to talk to you. I think this could help both of you."
"What are you implying?" Scar asked snappishly. He could just feel Mufasa swelling with pride at the fact that he got to call his equal idiotic son 'brave'. Parents, pathetic.
Mufasa didn't miss a beat as he responded to Scar.
"That you're an unpopular resentful lion with no friends and absolutely hope of attracting a lioness with your current attitude." He gave Scar a stern stare, but the sadistic humour that only Scar seemed to even be on the receiving end of, was making itself known. "I'm really doing you the favour here, practically."
"Oh, woah, don't – no, please - don't try and save my feelings. Why even bother, really?"
Mufasa huffed and went back to napping in the dust.
Harsh.
While Mufasa napped, Scar planned.
Heir to the Kingdom, trailing behind his friends:
They were going to the fig tree today. He used to love the fig tree, he was the best climber and his claw marks covered nearly every inch of the old branches. But still he could not shake his new found sadness. His mother had noticed straight away and she had whispered to him that time would help him heal. Spend the day sun baking, she had said.
Simba had never been so still or listless in his life. The cubs ran off and jumped around and screamed as they tackled one another. Realising how annoying you used to be is never a pleasant feeling.
The grass was tall and lush, when the mothers pushed through it clouds of crickets and tiny bugs scattered up into the gentle wind. Sometimes there would be soggy ground or puddles of mud, the boys would jump in it and try to splash each other, the girls would scream. Simba just took the easiest path and walked it. He realised half way to the fig tree that he was walking like an old elephant, world weary and steady. Cubs twice his age bounded around and past him, giggling and screeching. Simba felt fury burn inside him as he realised exactly why he was like this.
Why did he have to be king!? When his father told him, he had assumed it meant doing what he wanted, but now a few days later it was all too clear that being king was about doing what everyone else wanted. He wished he wasn't king. He wished he was just a normal lion. He wished his dad never finally told him, never started taking him out with him.
He wished he never got to see what being a king really meant. Why couldn't his father have let him live in ignorance for awhile longer? He was a cub! His fur was still tile marked and his ears rimmed with black, his claws see-through and bendy. Simba was angry at what his pride had done to him. On whose authority was it that he was the heir anyway? Why did the Pridelands need a ruler anyway? Why did he have to witness the dead and hear the crimes of the animals, why did he had to learn how to prosecute them correctly? Why did he have to be all of a sudden almighty, why did he have to grow up so quickly?
Why did his dad make him look into the eyes of the dying zebra? His father had said it would leave him with more questions and no answers, and the only way to answer those questions was to look inside yourself. Why did he do that?
A lioness gently pushed him along to get him walking faster, and Simba spun violently around in surprise. His fur was already half way up and his face partway twisted into a snarl because of his own frustrating thoughts, and it didn't take much for him to complete the transformation as he rounded on the old lioness. He snarled at her and she stepped back.
That would have never happened before. He would have been batted softly aside in reprime and told off with a growl. Then she would pick him up and caring him the rest of the way to shame him. She could easily still do that.
But instead she put space between them, and lowered her head so that her deep black eyes were staring straight across into his troubled red.
"You have fallen behind," she told him in her croaky voice. Simba tried to bring himself under control and listen for the loud squeals of the cubs. There were far ahead. She turned her face, one way then the other, and looked even deeper into him. Simba looked away in shame. "Something troubles you, young Simba." She was not known as the wise old lioness for nothing. Simba sighed and started walking, she strolled alongside him carefully.
"These days I feel older than you," he admitted. She laughed and did a little quiet roar in amusement.
"That sounds nothing like the pesky cub you were a few weeks ago." Don't remind me, Simba grumbled to himself.
"Yeah, well, few weeks ago I didn't know I'm going to be king of everything." He said, flustered, his bewilderment coming through clearly.
"You know what I hate, Simba?" She said strangely.
"What?"
"I hate that the stupid creatures get to make all the decisions, because the wise ones are too busy questioning themselves." Her words struck a nerve deep inside of him. "Now let's hurry and catch up to the party, my king."
Simba stared at her for a long time as he trotted alongside her. She was one of the few lions left with the true golden coat of the pridelanders. Her eyes were dark and her whiskers were extremely long and crooked. She had a trio of scars running across her chest and her tail had been chewed off halfway. She caught him staring and whisper to him with a trace of good nature 'hyenas'.
Of course. Thought Simba. It's always hyenas. He couldn't imagine an animal more filthy and vile than them. Where all hyenas like that? Of course they were. Just like how all lions were noble and cheetahs were cheats and crocodiles couldn't be trusted. Zebras were narrow-minded and water buffalos stubborn and elephants randomly killed.
Was that the great circle of life? Simba asked himself as he glanced up at the sun through the grass. Around and around? The big kill and the little suffer?
When they reached the fig tree the cubs were already up in the branches. Simba eyed the deep scratch far up off the ground that marked the furthest any cub had gone. He used to obsess over reaching that mark and leaving his own a few feet higher. Now he couldn't care enough to push his way through all the crowded cubs
He went up and sat beside his mother. She purred and reached out to rub her cheek along his side as he walked to her. He settled down and took a deep breath as he attempted to sunbathed for the first time in his life.
He was glad that she didn't say anything, just let him close his eyes and enjoy the evolving warmth of the stone and the sun. It was far better than he had ever given it credit for. He stretched out his stressed body and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds close by and far away, occasionally flicking his ear when a fly walked across his face. The lionesses would chat about hunting and the coming change in the season, they would gossip about everyone, even each other. He felt himself drifting off, finally letting go of all the questions he had been forcing himself to answer. The comment of the old lioness replaying in his mind as he started to sleep.
When the little nose of another cub woke him up, he was ready to kill. He swiped out and battered them away, growling softly and frowning.
"Simba, shut up." Nala's no-nonsense voice sliced through whatever sleepiness he had been hazed with. Opening his eyes Simba glared at the light coloured lioness. She stared back at him with furrowed brows. "Want to go climb the tree with me?" She asked him with a spreading smile.
Okay, something was definitely wrong. Nala hated climbing. She hated being near the other cubs and she hated doing one of his favourite things without a fight over why one of her favourite things was far better. Simba pinned his ears back in worry.
"Okay." He agreed slowly. Nala actually brightened up at that. Nala brightened up at going tree climbing.
"Cool." She said before hoping down off the rock and waiting for him. Simba followed sluggishly, still trying to wake all his muscles up.
When they went out, Nala spent all her time with the lionesses. Getting groomed, listening to hunting tales, learning tricks, sun bathing and watching the herds on the horizon with unconcealed desire. She liked fighting, stalking and exploring. She refused to do anything she struggled at, perfect example being climbing, and she hated being anywhere around any other cub except Simba. Even her twin sister she despised.
They sat down when they got to the truck of the tree and looked up into the branches for the best place to start climbing. One of the oldest cubs there, Enam, was lounging amongst the roots.
"Good luck she-lion." He cheered in the over done way the older cubs have always done to Nala.
"Hey!" Simba growled, glaring at the bigger cub. His spots had faded and his adult teeth were coming in, even long hairs were starting to grow around his neck. Simba remembered how he used to look up to the older boys. He used to worship them. And when they teased Nala for being a lion in a lionesses coat he used to... he used to...
Dear god he used to ignore it and tell her it would pass. He thought they had a valid point. Nala was nothing like the girls, she beated them all when they brawled which hurt even his ego and she was such a snobby boss sometimes Simba thought she could use a little teasing.
He couldn't believe himself. Just as he was about to walk over and claw the fur off of Enam's back Nala shot back hauntingly,
"Poor Enam, too fat to climb a simple tree," She then collected herself and jumped high up onto the lowest branch, landing on it flawlessly and walking along it with calm balance. Simba watched her go and gathering his legs under him to follow, but just before he did he turned to Enam and smirked.
He found Nala resting right on the edge of the thick branch, half hidden amongst the fig's copious amounts of leaves and the heavy loads of ripening fruit.
"I like the view up here," she said as he came closer, looking out over the plains again and watching the herds with eyes sharp with instincts.
"That's the only thing you like up here," Simba grumbled, judging the branch across from the one he was on and making the small jump. His claws lost a hold for a brief moment but he managed to jam his paws into the ruts. His heart was beating hard and Simba finally realised he was smiling.
This was why he loved climbing.
"Whats up with you Simba?" Nala asked in a matter of fact voice, her creamy coat getting smeared with dead moss and frail bark as she stretched out on the branch. They looked at each other for a while before Simba sighed.
"How long have you known that I'm going to be King?" he asked her finally.
"Since you told me." Nala replied with ease, her tail curling and uncurling lazily.
"Well back then, we though being king was about doing what we wanted." Nala smirked at him and Simba couldn't help but return it as she said knowingly,
"We could do it all our way."
"Exactly." Simba said, glad she was following him so well. "But these past few days I've been learning that it's nothing like that." His voice dropped to a whisper as he felt the pressure come back over him. "It's hard Nala, it's the hardest thing I've ever done." He looked at her, and her expression showed clear concern.
"I'm sorry," she said to him softly. Simba just shook his head.
"Don't apologise, it's not your fault." He could start to hear the other cubs above them, fighting amongst each other and the snapping of small twigs under them.
"My mother says that when we grow up our fears will be a lot smaller, because we'll be the biggest, scarcest animals on the Pridelands."
Simba laughed bleakly. For some reason, he couldn't even phantom the idea of growing up into a lion as big as his father. He felt stunted and weak, and he couldn't imagine that ever changing.
"You want to try and climb to the top?" Nala asked him, cheered by his laugh no matter how hollow.
"Nah," Simba said, shrugging. "How about we go hunting?" Nala jumped out of her seat at the suggestion.
"I love hunting!" she exclaimed, rushing back down the tree.
Yeah. I know.
On his way down Simba stopped to look at the girls. They were usually loudly arguing or giggling, but right now they were strangely quiet. He glanced up into the branches just before he jumped down to the ground and saw them, all of them watching him. He made eye contact with one of them before they all looked away and either giggled or whispered quickly. However Nala's sister kept looking on at him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Simba rolled his eyes.
He hated lionesses. They were always up to something.
Nala was waiting for him down on the ground, sitting regally and licking her fur smooth. He walked up alongside her, his golden fur mingling with her near white.
"Mouse? Bird?" She asked with ears pricked and swiveling around. Simba smirked.
"Whatever we can find," he said with a mock of evilness in his lowered voice, he dug his claws into the ground and Nala chuckled as their usually childless returned.
She was a natural hunter. She was the best at what she did, and if she wasn't, then she feared to do it. Simba was the only other cub that accepted her for what she was. A tomboy, a brute, a lioness over her head in ambition. Next to her Simba always felt clumsy, but he learns, just like Nala sometimes takes strength from his bravery and tentatively will try something new or at least attempt to be civil to the other cubs. It was something.
It felt good to be himself again, to play with Nala and the others who joined them when they started to wrestle. Nala came second, beating everyone but Kalifa, but the cubs who were beat didn't mocked her for being a he-lioness like they usually did after losing. Even the oldest boys said nothing. Simba wondered if they had come to accept Nala more while he was away with his father.
Simba was the youngest cub there, younger than Nala and her sister by a few weeks, and the rest by at least a few months. He usually managed to beat the lazy cubs like Adejola and Benji, and sometimes even Nala's sister Berta, but he was never a match for the bigger cubs and Nala.
They sat down in the shade and licked the light wounds they had got during play. The sun was high which usually meant it was nap time, and Simba's eyelids were awfully heavy. He settled down to nap and Nala quickly got up from where she was and curled beside him like always. The eight other cubs sprawled out themselves with great yawns and purrs.
During their nap a shower past over, wetting his coat and making the grass hang with water droplets. On the walk back he and Nala joined the boys in rolled through the new muddy puddles (much to the disgust of the young lionesses who screamed when they got too close – though Benji looked on with secret envy). They pretended to be cheetahs and raced each other home.
It was just what he needed.
The lionesses took them to the big kill they had made last night, now half stripped to the bone. The cubs liked to climb on top and proclaim themselves a part of the hunt that took it down, and make up wild stories of how it played out. All the cubs listened with interest as each took their turn.
Simba would stick his head through the hole in its belly and took around at its big empty ribcage. He pulled the thick skin back and looked at the exposed spine. The boys were working on trying to take the beasts big horns off its head, but they weren't having much luck.
"How did it really happen?" Benji asked her mother from where she sat licking dried blood off her paws. Her mother, Simba's half sister, grinned and bared her fangs.
"The Queen made the charge, and the herd went into a panic." All the cubs gasped and huddled as they tried to listen to the real hunt with intent ears. "They were scared mad, and a few nearly tripped over the very grass they ate. Mother was on the heels of the slowest, but even they were still too strong for our liking." She looked them all in the face in turn. "Then a calf ran around a bank the wrong way, I was on the flank and nearly had him. I swiped a paw at his legs and he fell down, I was on top of him," one of the young lionesses gasped, "and just as I was going to bite down on his throat, the great bull ran up and flung me into the air with his horns." On cue, she turned to reveal the two deep bruises from where the horns had lifted her. "He was strong and brave," his sister said, now looking at the carcass with respect, something that none of the cubs had for it, because they could not comprehend that it used to be something.
Simba had been told why thing's died. He had watched that zebra pass away. He was to be the king.
"He sacrificed his life to save the calf. I wondered who that calf is, what he will go on to become." She exhales and smiled at the cubs. "Does the meat taste brave?" Enam shook his head and someone else scoffed.
"Well it tastes brave to me." His half sister admitted sadly.
Later, when the cubs were back to exploring the carcass and eating the grit off the bones, Simba went over to his sister and asked her what brave could possibly taste like.
"Like ash," she admitted without thinking. "Only those who deserve to die, or those you never killed actually taste good."
Her coat was a darker cream, just like his mother, with the same knowing eyes and strong face. She nuzzle him and chuckled.
"Little king's finally asking the right questions." Simba huffed and threw his tail up causing her to chuckled even more. "If my mother where to hear of such teasing she would have you banished immediately!" His sister liked that and pushed him as she rolled over herself. It was a joke she and him had played since he could remember. She liked to make fun of the fact that she and him had Sarabi in common.
Sometimes the cubs asked him what it was like to have such an older sister. Simba said it was like having a normal sister, just that she was grown up enough that they never fought. Ulan and Benji both worried that it meant he could boss them around, even though they were older, but Simba never really bother to treat his nieces any different to the other cubs. It was weird anyway.
His half sister and his mother both came from the lakelands. It was far to the west of the Pridelands, and you had to cross the flatlands to get there. They're coats were the colour of wet sand because they did all their hunting on the banks of the endless inland sea. Sometimes he tried to talk to his mother about her life before she came to the Pridelands, and she would always refuse, telling him that her lions had been ruled only by the laws of Blood and Fear. Big change had come many years ago, and now they were a new society, still tentatively starting again. She said she would tell him of the old ways when he was older. That's why they were calledthe old ways, because you had to be older.
Simba didn't like having things kept from him.
His sister had once had five other siblings, but she was the only one who lived to leave alongside her mother. She told him more than his mother did. She told him about how her father lost to silver-side and how he and his mute brother killed all the cubs. She said how her mother was the only one that stood up, and those deep scars down her back where what she got for it.
Simba sometimes looks at those scars when the sun hits his mother right, and you can see the grooves in her fur that shows where they hide. He used to think scars were cool, but now he knows they can also be very sad.
Sometimes he looks at Uncle Scar's face and wonders what happened. But Scar always tells him a different story each time.
It was just after midday when they got back to pride rock. Scar was back with one of the lionesses, but everyone else who had gone out was still away. She was covered in mud and wouldn't put weight on her left paw. When the cubs crowded close to learn what happened, Scar roared at them to chase them away.
Simba wondered what the rest would look like when they returned. Later Rafiki came with his stick and inspected her, Simba rushed over to his side, knowing that he would be welcome and also very curious to what he was doing.
"Oh no young girl," Rafiki had groaned as he carefully inspected her limp leg. "You've broken your bone in two." She started to cry, and Simba couldn't help but think of the big bones of the brave gnu and how the lionesses had cracked them in two so that the cubs could lick the soft marrow out.
"Can you fix it?" She asked, Rafiki frowned and shook his head.
"I will try," he admitted to her, but whatever he was feeling was making him shake his head over and over again.
"Please young king," she asked Simba, suddenly turning to him, begging him. What could he possibly do for her? "Please help me." Simba started into her eyes, she was young and Simba remembered how that one time she had brought a mongoose back for her first kill, and how Nala had scoffed and told Simba her first kill will be a giraffe.
They had been very little back then.
"Simba, come here," Rafiki said softly, guiding the cub over with his large hands. He guided Simba's little golden paw and placed it gently on the girl's leg. "You feel it?" He asked, encouraging him to trace softly how the bone was at the complete wrong angle. There was absolutely nothing that could be done for her.
The circle of life. Simba thought, bile rising in his throat as he looked back into her watery eyes. Why did the brave gnu die? Why did his sister kill him? Why did this young lioness break her leg? Why did the shower pass over today and cause her to slip down the muddy bank? Rafiki pulled a small fruit from his stick and gave it to her to chew. Slowly, she relaxed and fell asleep. Rafiki sighed and ran his hand along her leg in sorrow.
"I came to talk to your father," Rafiki told him, sitting beside the sleeping lioness. "The visions get more violent, the first change is at hand, my bones ache from the racket the ancestors are causing."
"What do they sound like?" Simba said in awe.
Simba looked down at the lioness. Wondering if she will be joining the ancestors soon. Maybe that was what she was begging of him. They say the kings have sway over the ancestor's decision; maybe she wanted him to beg on her behalf.
"He'll come back when he has dealt with the danger." Scar said, appearing out of nowhere in an angry huff. "They're still searching for those idiot elephants and probably never will. I reckon they've already crossed into the wastelands." Scar had bent down and said the last through gritted teeth to Simba. "But far be it for my opinions to be taken into account." Scar said with a sarcastic drawl. When he stood up his mane was ruffled, and the sleek black colour seemed to absorb all light and haloed him in darkness. Simba watched him wordlessly, torn between wanting a red mane like his father or a cool black one like Uncle Scar.
Scar seemed to suddenly remember the lioness, and asked Rafiki how bad it was.
"She will never recover." Rafiki said softly,
"That's what they said when I got struck by lightning but here I am now," Scar looked at Simba and grinned widely, "perfectly normal don't you agree?"
"You? Normal?" Simba scoffed as he followed behind his uncle. Scar looked around at the bratty kids, over bearing mothers, the broken lioness and the sad old monkey waiting for his king to return with vigilance. Simba saw it all too.
"Simba," Scar said to get his attention, "you're father sent me back early because I have a special extra mission."
"Really?" Simba asked, skeptical but curious at the same time. His head tilted to the side as he studied his uncle's gleaming eyes.
"He's got a surprise for you, down in the gorge, I'm meant to bring you to meet him." Scar used his large paw to scoop Simba along in the right direction. Quickly getiing his feet under him, Simba jogged to keep up with his Uncle. It was strange to set out into the Pridelands during the hottest part of the day, but Simba supposed time was of the essence. He just hoped it wasn't another dying zebra he needed to look in the eye.
The journey to the gorge was hot and quiet. He tried asking about what they were doing, but Uncle Scar would always shut him down with a smile. It only made Simba more curious. It was driving him insane. By the time they started to descend into the gorge both lions were panting. The shaded rocks they climbed down helped lift some of the heat from their bodies.
"Now you wait here, your father has a marvelous surprise for you." He spoke with acid, just enough for Simba to pick up on. He couldn't stand all the dodging around anymore. Just tell me!
"What is it?" Stepping into the shade of the one little tree growing stubbornly in the bottom of the gorge. Scar grinned and walked softly alongside his nephew.
"If I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise now would it?"
"If you tell me, I'll still act surprised," Scar saw right through him and chuckled.
"You are such a naughty boy."
He sat and curled his tail up close, upset that his Uncle was being so stubborn and, really, quite strange.
"Come on Uncle Scar," Simba pleaded, looking him in eye. Scar just put his head in the air and refused him over and over again.
"This is just for you and your daddy, you know, a sort of father son... thing." With eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets, Scar sighed at Simba's pleading.
Simba wondered if Scar even knew what it was like to do a father-son thing.
"Well, I better get going then," the big lion finally concluded, walking off quickly. Simba look after him in surprise. He was just going to leave him on this rock? What he would give to have been left alone to explore before, but right now he wasn't very keen on being alone in a gorge
"I'll go with you," Simba exclaimed happily, bouncing down the rock after him. Instantly his uncle tensed and whipped around, pushing him back up the rock.
"No." He said too quickly, startling Simba before laughing it off. "Just...stay on this rock. You wouldn't want to end up in another mess like you did with the hyenas." Simba's excitement dropped instantly, as did his stomach at the mention of the graveyard incident.
"You know about that?" Was his worst nightmare coming true?
"Simba," Scar said bluntly. "Everybody knows about that."
"Really?"
"Ohhh yes. Lucky daddy was there to save you aye? Ohhh, and just between us, you might want to work on that little roar of yours, hmm?" Scar tried to be comforting as he rested a paw on his nephew's shoulders. No matter that the grown lion's paw was half the size of Simba himself.
"Oh. Well, okay." So everyone knew, and even the most embarrassing details! Simba felt wrecked knowing that everyone in the Pridelands had probably heard the gossip by now. How could he ever show his face again? As Scar walked away, Simba felt cheer as he remembered the surprise his father had for him.
"Hey Uncle Scar, will I like the surprise?" He asked, hoping that one last question that wasn't really asking for much detail at all would be enough to crack the mystery open a little bit.
"Simba, it's to die for." Scar said dramatically. Not very content, but realising he wasn't going to get anymore than that, Simba sat down and rested in the shade as Scar walked further and further away. He could hear a bird cry from way up above the gorge.
"Little roar. Pfft." Everyone was talking behind his back about his little roar, the weak little king. A stupid lizard crawled down from the bush and ignore him blatantly as he walked past, nose in the air. Simba bet the lizard thought he was a weak little cub too. Well he wasn't! And somebody ought to set those idiots straight or he would... he could...
Simba decided to set it straight himself, and with flattened ears he snarled at the lizard. When it ignored him he jumped down beside it and took in the biggest breath he could.
Focus Simba.
It kept on walking.
Well alright then. With a smirk Simba watched the lizard continue to walk, he eyed it and crouched like a predator ready to strike. Jumping up to it, he focused less on his breath and more on his voice, and as his roar came out the lizard scattered away so quick it was gone when he opened his eyes. His roar echoed all around him and up through the gorge, and Simba felt so happy as he heard it bounce around and fly down the canyon. He felt big. Listening closer, his heart started to skip when he heard another noise jump in.
The rumpling of a stampede, and the startled cries of animals. Birds flew into the air with alarm cries, and the little peddles by his feet started to jump and skip across the ground as the entire canyon shook.
Looking down the gorge, Simba watched in shock as gnu started to pour down the side, jumping and skipping down the steep rocks. More and more, until it was like a waterfall and the dust they threw up clouded them into one mass.
Everything in him went cold.
He watched them in disbelief, wondering what they were doing, knowing what was coming for him but not realising what it meant. As the first beast charged closer, it didn't seem that bad, but then the black mass sweeping after them and pushing them forward... one of the leaders tripped, and the many behind it simply charged over it because they could not stop what had begun.
Simba turned and ran. The pounding of their hooves and scared bellows breathed down his back and chased him. They were running from the stampede like him. He was now the leader of the stampede. But they were gaining so fast Simba felt like he was made of stone.
Once he chanced a look behind, and he nearly lost his footing. He was tired and scared. Why didn't they stop? He was the king, wasn't he? Why did they have to run? What made them run?
He managed a few more bounding leaps before he could hear their breathing as clear as his own. He looked above him, and sure enough the first one was over him, beside him, he was suddenly amongst them, desperately trying to avoid the forest of legs and striking hooves that swarmed him. There was no way they would see him down here, no way he would survive. He needed to get out, up out of the rising dust. His eyes locked onto a branch angling out amongst all the gnu legs, and he made a mad dash for it and scaled it in seconds with sure feet. But when he made a last jump along its curved truck, he went flying down and missed it. Only his pure luck saved him from being flung back down into the writhing mass of the stampede. Sometimes their horns would pass under him, close enough to scratch along the bark.
Eat your heart out Nala. Was what flashed through Simba's mind. She used to think climbing was useless from a lion to learn.
The dust was making him cough, and when he saw Zazu he felt so much relief but at the same time so much new panic because this was real and he needed to be saved again.
"Zazu help me!" he called to the bird as he slipped and clung to the shaking branch.
"Your father is on the way, hold on!" The distraught hornbill cried, Simba couldn't see him very well, too busy pulling himself up after he was nearly thrown clear off the branch. But he took one fugitive glance at the bird as he flew away in horror.
"Hurry," he managed to say. Trying not to cry.
His father.
His father was on the way to save him again.
He was such a mistake.
One horn caught the branch squarely and the vibration were so hard it felt like his brain got dislodged. He tried to hold on, but he couldn't do it much anymore. He was tired. Before he knew what had happened, he heard the cry of a gnu directly underneath him, and felt the force of the blow as the branch went sailing. He was thrown clear off it, and came hurdling down onto the beasts. He had really fucked up. If he hadn't of been such an idiot-
Simba gasped as he was caught and violently pulled in the other direction. He felt where his dad carried him, and gasped in surprised as the ground came within an inch of his nose before swirling into so many different colours as his dad sprinted and swerved through the stampede. There was a great hit and he was ripped away and throw across the gorge floor, he could hear his dad's pained roar rumbled as loud as the hooves.
Simba tried to get to his feet, he looked around and the gnu looked to be in even worse of a panic.
Probably because of dad's roar. Simba thought instantly. Then he remembered his own roars just before it happened. He kept having to jump and scramble away from them, and in the dust he could make out his dad running for him. When he picked him up again midstride Simba felt more terror than his entire life combined. His dad jumped up and onto a ledge safe on the side of the gorge, and as he was placed down with extreme care, Simba only had enough time to turn and catch a glimpse of his dad before he was gone again.
"Dad!" Simba cried, the bad feeling doubling and growing and crawling ontop of each other until he felt numb and shaky and ready to burst open and ooze it. He couldn't see him. He couldn't see anything down there. His dad was trapped on the ground as hundreds of his loyal subjects trampled over him.
There was a loud, pained roar, and Simba feared the worst until he saw the massive shape of his dad jump out of the dust cloud. He scrambled to get a hold on the rock wall, with clenched teeth Simba watched his dad pull himself higher and higher with all the power he could muster.
With dread Simba tried to find a way to help. He could rush up the rocks to his side and try to find a way along to the ledge his dad was climbing for.
Yeah. He would do that.
With a new determination Simba bolted away and up the tiny ravine in the rocks. He heard his dad's hurt cry, it shook his bones. Simba stopped dead in his tracks and watched with numb shock and denial as the gnu went past in a haze. He hadn't fallen. He hadn't fallen. He couldn't see his dad anymore, but that was just because he was on the other side of the rocks. He hadn't fallen. He couldn't.
And then he saw it, watched it in slow motion. His dad tumbling down, flailing and falling wildly. He was grasping for something he couldn't hold, and he was falling so hard and fast that the gnu looked like spikes waiting to impale him. The rawness in his fathers last cry made Simba stop thinking at all.
"NO!" Simba cried, all he could do. Just cry. He couldn't tear his gaze from that spot in the air, he didn't know how to.
He didn't know when he managed to regain himself, but when he did he was sliding down the gorge wall, crying and falling and hoping that his dad was still alright. Still down there.
He searched and cried through the empty, dusty wasteland. When a lone confused gnu ran by him with a noticeable limp, Simba felt such a strong hatred wash through him that he became plastered to the spot.
And then he saw it, in the swirling dust, limp under the cracked bow of an equally dead and trampled tree.
But he refused to believe that. His dad was stronger than a tree. Dads don't die.
But something in him knew, as he circled and saw the beaten body of his father. His sobs were wrecking his body, and the big lion was nothing but light fur.
"Help!" He cried. But no one was there, just tall dust clouds. How could this happen? Simba went back to his dad's side and tried to believe. There was hope, there could be. Was his chest moving? It could be. Simba pressed himself to his dad, trying to listen for the familiar booming heartbeat.
It was there.
Oh thank god.
Simba was crying now more than ever from equal sadness and joy, he pulled at his father's ears and begged for him to get up.
He started to stir, and when his dad's eyes opened, then looked straight past him. For many seconds Simba didn't know what to do as his dad looked past him, disgust creeping up onto his face followed by anger.
"Simba," Mufasa whispered quickly, like he didn't have the breath to say all he needed to. "Run." Simba was so shocked, his mouth hung open and he couldn't say a thing. His dad kept looking between him and the distance. Like he was tracking something. Simba was about to turn around to look as well when his dad struck him hard and sent him tumbling across the torn up ground.
"Get out of my sight!" His dad snarled, his expression one of pain and desperation. His eyes flickered beyond him, then focused on him with such a burning glare Simba felt his breath catch so much he was barely breathing at all.
"If I ever see you in my Pridelands again, I will kill you. Now get out of my sight before I do it now!" Mufasa launched himself half off the ground, keeping his cry of pain down as he watched his helpless cub stare on in horror. He glanced behind at where Scar was hurriedly stalking towards him, the telltale shadows of hyenas darting around him.
He will not let Scar get to his son. Anything to save Simba, anything. Mufasa looked away from his murderous brother running along the gorge, and to his beloved son crumpled in the dust.
Simba was trampled and defeated, and now Mufasa would be condemning him to a dangerous life of hiding. There was only one way to make sure his son did that right, in the short time he had.
"Get!" Mufasa roared, swiping at his son again. Simba stumbled and raced off, disappearing into the dust clouds without a word. He had just enough time to watch the disappearing tiny form of his cub before he felt Scar rake his claws across his face with extreme force. The blow made all his other injuries scream.
"Kill the king!" Scar cried to the hyenas before he too raced into the dust, intent on the trail of a cub he believed knew everything of his failed murder.
"Please, stop Scar, he knows nothing!" Mufasa cried after him in turmoil. He prayed Simba was scared enough to hide and run, scared enough to disbelieve Scar's sweet words if he ever got close enough. One of the hyenas lunged and got a mouthful of his ear and cheek, the creature swung viciously, ragdolling from side to side, tearing his ear to ribbons and yanking his head around in all directions. Mufasa roared and tried to swipe him away. One had his back paw in his mouth and was pulling at it and chewing, Mufasa felt dread as he watched and felt nothing.
One jumped heavily onto his back and Mufasa looked up into her cruel smirk with thunderous narrowed eyes.
"Boo," she said, making all of them fall over in giggles.
Run Simba. Run as fast as you can. Mufasa prayed.