A peal of thunder rumbles across the lands. It grew and intensified as it rumbled through canyons, rivers, peaks, and lowlands. For days this storm had been spotted approaching from the West. Precautions had been taken but there was no preparing for this storm. The anvil of the storm was miles high, ready to slam the Earth with all of its pent up anger of the ages. Another peal rumbled across the plains and into the hills, promising retribution for all things done wrong. Animals run frightened, trying to find any shelter they can as the storm slowly descends upon them, creating a mass panic and chaos. During this mass panic and chaos, the rain began. It came down slowly at first, like a light summer's shower, kissing the Earth and relieving the dry spell. But soon, it began to pour. The drops that were falling were the size of acorns and growing larger with each passing second. Rivers began to overflow their boundaries, spilling into the plains as the rain continued its torrential downpour. Everywhere, small pools of water began forming, joining with others to create small lakes within the plains, eventually joining with the rivers.
Simba stood just inside of Pride Rock as the deluge began. It always amazed him how the rain came softly then hammered his entire kingdom in a matter of seconds. No matter how much he prepared for the deluge, there was never enough that could be done. He cringed as a peal of thunder boomed through the chamber. It felt as though the storm was passing its entire might onto his shoulders as he felt the thunder rumble through him.
'Sometimes that's what it feels like,' he thought. 'Father, I was not ready for this. Why was it passed to me? Why was someone else not chosen? Anyone could be better than I. How can I rule as you did if I have no idea how you ruled?'
Silence only greeted him as he stared into the rain. His father, the great king Mufasa, still watched over him from above but as of late, been silent, giving no support or advice to aid his son. Mufasa had believed that a king must learn how to rule on his own and not by simply following his father before him.
"You must forge your own path, Simba," Mufasa had told him one day. "There will be a day when I will not be king. I will be with you always but I will go home to my fathers, in whose great company I will find rest. You must learn how to rule in a manner that is yours, not mine. You may be my blood but you are not me. You are my son and as my son you are the next king, whether you want it or not. It is your path in the great Circle."
Simba paced, consumed by these tortuous thoughts as they wrestled to gain the best of him. Ruthlessly, like clamping down on a zebra's neck, he thrust his thoughts into submission. Shaking his head, he turned from the entrance and made his way further back into the cave, to his wife, Nala, heavily pregnant with their first child. Neither knew if the child was male or female. To be ready in the event of either a boy or a girl, Simba and Nala had picked out a name for each situation. They would name the child Kopa if it was a boy and Kiara if it was a girl.
Simba believed their child to be a girl, on account of the feisty kicking Nala received every night as they laid down to sleep.