Chapter One: Nimepotea - I Am Lost
It had been an uncommonly dry season on the Serengeti, which always meant that one could expect an uncommonly damp monsoon season. Being born a creature of the hot, dry expanses of the pride lands, Simba was not familiar with the tropical storms that sometimes hit the coast of the jungle where he now lived with Timon and Pumbaa. Sure they had rain showers, but this. . .
"This is incredible." the big cat breathed in awe. "I've never seen a rain like this back ho-. . .I mean, where I came from."
"Buddy, forget about where you came from!" the meerkat exclaimed. "Right now we gotta think about where you're goin'; GOIN' TO FIND OUR WARTHOG PAL!" he all but shouted as he scrambled up upon the young lion's shoulder's. "Let's go! Onward! Follow that trail!" he commanded, tugging on the developing mane that colored Simba's shoulders.
"What trail?" the feline asked.
"The trail that you'll sniff out. Come on, come on!"
"But, there isn't a trail. There's not even a scent. With all this water, it'll be impossible to find him on smell alone. . .even a smell as powerful as Pumbaa's."
Timon yielded an expression of pure bafflement. "So, you mean that my buddy's out there and we're stuck here without a clue and no way to find him?"
"No, no, no! That's not what I'm saying! We'll find Pumbaa but, well, it just won't be very easy."
"But, we will find him?"
"Absolutely."
"Then what are we waitin' for? Let's move out!"
Together, the two started out, looking for their lost friend. They hadn't a clue where to begin their search, but with faith and hope on their side, they were certain that they would not fail.
After searching for what seemed like days, the two companions came to a clearing at the jungle's edge. The light of the noonday's sun struck them with a force.
"Whew! That's some golden light." Timon commented as he shaded his eyes from the sun's rays.
"Yeah, but I hope that Pumbaa's not out there." Simba replied.
"So, what? It's just a little sun. No big deal."
"It's not the sun I'm worried about. . ." he said, softly.
"Oh, no? Then what, pray tell, is this thing that you are worried about?" he asked, looking down at the lion. He noticed that the young feline was looking at something on the ground. He followed his gaze down to the ground where a large paw print rested. Timon swallowed, loudly. "Eh. . . whaddya suppose made that thing?"
Simba was quiet, steadily staring at print with an unreadable expression upon his visage. Suddenly, he turned about and reentered the jungle.
"Hey! Wait! Where are ya goin'?" Timon exclaimed, looking back behind him at the retreating view of the open plains.
Although he heard the ushered inquiry, Simba did not answer. Instead, he pressed on into the disarrayed depths of the jungle's darkness.
"Are you listening to me?" Timon asked, sharply. "Stop! Wait! WOAH!" he shouted, pulling violently on the emerging rust colored tendrils of the lion's locks.
Abruptly, Simba stopped, but still said nothing. Timon scrambled down from the lion's shoulders and marched before him. He reached up, grabbing several of the cat's whiskers and pulled on them, bringing him down so that they were eye to eye.
"What's goin' on here?" Timon demanded. "Why are we leavin'?"
Sighing heavily, Simba answered, "Because, I know what made those tracks."
"So. . .what was it?"
Averting his eyes with what looked akin to shame, he answered. "A lion."
"A lion?!" the rodent exclaimed. "A lion. Hey! That's great! Come on, let's go!" he ordered, as he started back for the light.
"But, Timon. . ."
"You can find that lion and ask 'em if he's seen Pumbaa."
"Timon-. . ."
"Actually, it might be better if he hadn't. My buddy's not the fastest of prey. . ."
"TIMON!"
"But, that's why you've gotta go and have a talk with that lion out there so he can spread the word not to eat our friend! So, come on, what are ya waitin' for?"
"Because, I can't!" he all but shouted.
"You can't?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Whaddya mean ya can't? You're a lion, ain't ya?"
"Yeah, but-. . ."
"Our buddy's in trouble, ain't he?"
"Well, he might be, but-. . ."
"So what else do ya need to know?"
"I-. . . I don't know." he admitted, reluctantly. "But, what I do know is that lions are very territorial. Entering another's territory is something that is not allowed and punishable even by death."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Timon chided, shaking his head. "Ya let me down kid. And to think of everything we've done for you. And what's more, if this whole mess were turned the other way around, Pumbaa wouldn't have thought twice about goin' in there to find you. Go on home. I'll find my buddy on my own." And with that, the meerkat scurried off into the tawny grasses of the plain.
It had been an uncommonly dry season on the Serengeti, which always meant that one could expect an uncommonly damp monsoon season. Being born a creature of the hot, dry expanses of the pride lands, Simba was not familiar with the tropical storms that sometimes hit the coast of the jungle where he now lived with Timon and Pumbaa. Sure they had rain showers, but this. . .
"This is incredible." the big cat breathed in awe. "I've never seen a rain like this back ho-. . .I mean, where I came from."
"Buddy, forget about where you came from!" the meerkat exclaimed. "Right now we gotta think about where you're goin'; GOIN' TO FIND OUR WARTHOG PAL!" he all but shouted as he scrambled up upon the young lion's shoulder's. "Let's go! Onward! Follow that trail!" he commanded, tugging on the developing mane that colored Simba's shoulders.
"What trail?" the feline asked.
"The trail that you'll sniff out. Come on, come on!"
"But, there isn't a trail. There's not even a scent. With all this water, it'll be impossible to find him on smell alone. . .even a smell as powerful as Pumbaa's."
Timon yielded an expression of pure bafflement. "So, you mean that my buddy's out there and we're stuck here without a clue and no way to find him?"
"No, no, no! That's not what I'm saying! We'll find Pumbaa but, well, it just won't be very easy."
"But, we will find him?"
"Absolutely."
"Then what are we waitin' for? Let's move out!"
Together, the two started out, looking for their lost friend. They hadn't a clue where to begin their search, but with faith and hope on their side, they were certain that they would not fail.
After searching for what seemed like days, the two companions came to a clearing at the jungle's edge. The light of the noonday's sun struck them with a force.
"Whew! That's some golden light." Timon commented as he shaded his eyes from the sun's rays.
"Yeah, but I hope that Pumbaa's not out there." Simba replied.
"So, what? It's just a little sun. No big deal."
"It's not the sun I'm worried about. . ." he said, softly.
"Oh, no? Then what, pray tell, is this thing that you are worried about?" he asked, looking down at the lion. He noticed that the young feline was looking at something on the ground. He followed his gaze down to the ground where a large paw print rested. Timon swallowed, loudly. "Eh. . . whaddya suppose made that thing?"
Simba was quiet, steadily staring at print with an unreadable expression upon his visage. Suddenly, he turned about and reentered the jungle.
"Hey! Wait! Where are ya goin'?" Timon exclaimed, looking back behind him at the retreating view of the open plains.
Although he heard the ushered inquiry, Simba did not answer. Instead, he pressed on into the disarrayed depths of the jungle's darkness.
"Are you listening to me?" Timon asked, sharply. "Stop! Wait! WOAH!" he shouted, pulling violently on the emerging rust colored tendrils of the lion's locks.
Abruptly, Simba stopped, but still said nothing. Timon scrambled down from the lion's shoulders and marched before him. He reached up, grabbing several of the cat's whiskers and pulled on them, bringing him down so that they were eye to eye.
"What's goin' on here?" Timon demanded. "Why are we leavin'?"
Sighing heavily, Simba answered, "Because, I know what made those tracks."
"So. . .what was it?"
Averting his eyes with what looked akin to shame, he answered. "A lion."
"A lion?!" the rodent exclaimed. "A lion. Hey! That's great! Come on, let's go!" he ordered, as he started back for the light.
"But, Timon. . ."
"You can find that lion and ask 'em if he's seen Pumbaa."
"Timon-. . ."
"Actually, it might be better if he hadn't. My buddy's not the fastest of prey. . ."
"TIMON!"
"But, that's why you've gotta go and have a talk with that lion out there so he can spread the word not to eat our friend! So, come on, what are ya waitin' for?"
"Because, I can't!" he all but shouted.
"You can't?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Whaddya mean ya can't? You're a lion, ain't ya?"
"Yeah, but-. . ."
"Our buddy's in trouble, ain't he?"
"Well, he might be, but-. . ."
"So what else do ya need to know?"
"I-. . . I don't know." he admitted, reluctantly. "But, what I do know is that lions are very territorial. Entering another's territory is something that is not allowed and punishable even by death."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Timon chided, shaking his head. "Ya let me down kid. And to think of everything we've done for you. And what's more, if this whole mess were turned the other way around, Pumbaa wouldn't have thought twice about goin' in there to find you. Go on home. I'll find my buddy on my own." And with that, the meerkat scurried off into the tawny grasses of the plain.