The Huntress at Sunset

8. Getting Priorities Right

It was already past midday when Nengwalamwe wearily climbed up the boulder path to the rock. He was still alone and he was still hungry. A thick crackling coat of heavy mud still hung from his underside from chin to tail. He reached the flat of the rock and on into one of the smaller caves to the north. He was looking for a quiet secluded spot where he could spend the afternoon washing while brooding over what to do about Shaha, Falana and above all that slippery baboon.

He had not eaten for some days. His hunger confused his judgement and telescoped the hours so that sunset took him unawares. In the shadows of the cave he found that night came sooner than on the open savannah. He was still struggling to clean the last of the rough grit from his fine underfur as darkness fell. He felt sure that he had to return his fur to pristine perfection if he was ever to get anywhere with Falana. No lioness was even going to look at him unless he was clean.

He felt mixed-up and confused. It had to be said that she was quite attractive in her defiance. He considered her a challenge to his adulthood; he knew that he had to conquer her simply because she dared to say no to him. Not that she had actually said no, Nengwalamwe had not even asked, yet he was certain that if he did then Falana would reject him. This tacit rejection was what drove his determination. One day she would say 'yes' to him, one day he would prove his adulthood to her. He did not want cubs, he certainly did not want Falana, what he wanted was to show that he was a lion who commanded respect. That done, there would be nothing left to hold him, nothing at all. So he would leave her and leave these Pridelands altogether.

The baboon was an altogether different problem. He had followed Nengwalamwe back to the rock and was spending the afternoon hanging about on the high ledges way out of the lion's reach. Occasionally he sent, whether by accident or design Nengwalamwe could not determine, showers of earth and loose stony fragments down to the lower, broader walkways that Nengwalamwe used around the rock. What was he hanging about for? What was there for a baboon here on the rock, particularly as there was no food and a hungry lion prowling about?

Nengwalamwe decided to ignore the baboon for the time being. They often hung around high spots during the day, watching the comings and goings of the savannah and hurling occasional abuse and more at anything within range before running away excitedly. However this one was very quiet. He seemed more bored than anything else. He made only one sound that Nengwalamwe heard: a frustrated sort of chatter that preceded one of the more substantial rock falls. Nengwalamwe thought about going to see what all the noise was about and had barely got up when a curtain of dry earth and sharp stone fragments dropped and clattered down from the arch of the cave entrance. He froze and waited, looking up wearily as if he could see the baboon through the roof. With the last stone, silence fell over the rock once more.

More than likely the stinking animal would wander off by itself when it got bored with whatever it was that it was doing. Nengwalamwe was prepared to let him waste his time while he got on with more important matters: cleaning his belly fur. The baboon would pay for his part in the incident by the waterhole later, after all it would be impossible to catch him up there on the slippery bare rock that afforded no clawhold. To attempt to catch a baboon, that was much more used to scrambling over the rock, in the dark was not the sort of thing Nengwalamwe liked. What he wanted most was to get himself clean, and with that out of the way he would set his mind to filling his belly. A foul smelling baboon would suffice if needs must, but something more palatable would be far more to his taste.

In the darkness, Nengwalamwe licked himself into deep and undisturbed sleep; filled with nothing more unsettling than a dim scene of young cubs playing with Nengwalamwe's tail under a tree. One turned to him and he was half aware that he recognised her.

Sometime during the night, the baboon climbed down from the top of the rock to the ledge at the entrance to the lion's cave and peered in for a few seconds before slipping away unobserved into the darkness.

The following dawn was subdued and shrouded by cloud. It was nearly half an hour after first light before Nengwalamwe woke to the few fleeting shafts of early sunlight that penetrated the entrance of the cave. He still felt empty and drained. This, he was determined, was the day he would finally get to eat. So few of sounds from the plains drifted up into the cave that the lion thought at first that it might still be before dawn. When he had stretched and shaken he walked calmly to the cave entrance and stood, blinking in the light. The sun was struggling to break through the clouds that streamed down from the mountains. The lion yawned, finishing with a rasping light growl that was designed in part to tell the baboon that the great Nengwalamwe was awake.

To the east, on the open grassy plain below the rock, vast herds, mainly of zebra and wildebeest but with smaller groups of lighter coloured antelope, grazed forming a grey blanket as far as the eye could see. The lion's eyes picked out the movements of the lesser groups, some of which looked likely to be Thomson's gazelle - just about at the upper size limit for his hunting skills. He stood and watched for a while, partly to assure himself that the baboon had finally gone and partly to determine that Falana and her mother were not around to spoil his day.

After a minute or two his natural confidence returned and he set off along the ledge to the promontory. Less than a minute later he paused to mark an outlying boulder before walking purposely on to the plain with the sun before him and the towering rock casting its long, cold shadow behind him. From those deep shadows, a pair of hunting dogs trailed in his paw prints, careful to keep out of the lion's earshot.

It took Nengwalamwe longer than he had expected to reach the outliers of the herds. From the promontory of the rock they had seemed much closer. The sun had risen steadily and now, with merciless heat, tried to burn away the clouds that threw their shadows rolling over the herds. He was hot and breathing heavily, making it difficult for Nengwalamwe's drained mind to concentrate on any one beast. For a while he totally lost the Thomson's gazelle he had seen from the rock. He wandered to-and-fro making a few probing rushes into edges of the herds hoping to flush out any stragglers. It was beginning to become apparent that his mane was far too visible for him to be anything other than a very minor irritation. Every time he moved on the herd, it opened up in front of him in a wide arc, he heard little more than a few grunts of vague alarm. He broke off, growling under his breath as the incessant throbbing in his head grew unbearable.

Nengwalamwe was totally unaware that he was being watched discreetly from a rise at the southern edge of the grassy plain by the dogs who had followed him from the rock. In time they tired of the ineffective efforts of the lion and eventually, with nothing more than a nod to each other, turned and trotted back the way they had come. It was clear that the lion, whoever he was, was not going to be able to feed himself for much longer if this was how he hunted. As he had been rejected by the lionesses he was not going to hang around for much longer. The dogs knew they would not have to bother about this lion for very long.

Nengwalamwe's efforts grew more desperate with each attempt. Just before midday his patience finally broke and he suddenly rushed at full stretch towards a nearby zebra, roaring as though it were an intruding lion that had discovered him alone with his lioness. He could only close to within four lengths of the zebra mare before it galloped off barking shouts of alarm. He gave chase until his legs and lungs began to burn, then he stood gasping in the stinging, airless heat. His legs could hold him no longer and he dropped down on to the grass and lay staring blindly. The heat and his hunger had finally brought him to the limit of his endurance, yet the full heat of the day was still to come.

He had had no food for many days, this would not normally have been much of a hardship for him but he was now becoming seriously dehydrated. The grass turned a foggy red in Nengwalamwe's eyes and his head pounded as though an elephant was dancing on his mane. At home the supply of fresh kill had been so plentiful that he could not recall ever drinking from the Kolata. Here, the river, much wider than the Kolata, was almost an hour's walk away across the open plain. Even now, just before the rains, it was swift flowing and dangerous with wide muddy banks. There was the ever-present threat of crocodile attack. Crocodiles were one of the very few things that Nengwalamwe really feared. The luggas that fed the river in the months after the rains were dryer than Nengwalamwe's throat. They were nothing more than parched dust gullies. The only water within his reach was the waterhole; the waterhole where he had so recently been degraded by that warthog's backside of a baboon. Here, on the wide expanses of the Pridelands he was forced to swallow his pride and return to the scene of his humiliation.

Nengwalamwe's head cleared a little and he struggled to his paws. He stood and closed his eyes to block the brightness of the sun but the all-pervading pain in his head remained. He turned slowly, dragging his forepaws through the grass. The waterhole lay to the southwest of the rock, at least a half-hour's mind-pounding slog away through the kopjes and thickets. He had little choice but to set off in the open to the nearest kopje, desperately hoping to find some shade among the rounded rocks and scraggling trees. He repeatedly had to stop and rest. His eyesight clouded over and he felt as though his head would burst. More than once he thought he would stop altogether and lie down never to rise. If it were not for the intermittent shade from the clouds then he might well have lain unseen and unnoticed on the ground as just one of the savannah fallen.

In amongst the kopje there was little shade. He moved on. In the thicket beyond he managed to stumble onwards, each pawfall growing more painful, each step draining him until he felt as though he would give himself up to any passing hyena simply because it would stop the excruciating pain in his head. Then, just as he was about to forget what he was living for, he came to the far edge of the thicket. There, just twenty lengths away, lay the remains of the waterhole, now little more than a muddy pool barely five metres across. He struggled to the mud's edge. There he found, like the day before, his paws began to sink. He was close, so close to the water when he collapsed and dropped down on the steaming mud. He had just not been strong enough to reach the pool and the mud had drained the last of his strength. He closed his eyes and felt the heat of the sun burn into his mane. He closed his eyes for what he felt sure was the last time and moments later lost all sensation, save that of the hot mud on his belly.

~oOOo~

He woke. It was cool; the morning. He heard a strange confusion of sound: purring, treetops in high winds, chattering monkeys, everything all at once. It came from behind. He whipped round; towards him a green box slid along the ridge. It smelled of death and fire. He ran from it.

The he saw her. She was watching something in the distance intently. Her face was dull and strained. Her coat dusty, unwashed for many days, her ears up but not high. Her tail hung down, still and limp. An almost lioness.

He stopped close by. The box screeched then stopped high on the ridge. Dust swirled. A man appeared in it, standing up. He took reached down and took up something black and covered is eyes with it. He too looked.

"What's going on?" he said, but his voice carried no further than his nose. "What's going on?" He said no more now. Pointless. He too looked. Looked down the slope towards his rock, but it wasn't his rock. It was hers. A distant rumble rolled up. No, it was his. But that was neither a call nor a challenge. It wasn't triumph, nor joy; it was pain, unending pain. He was drawn to it.

Then he was there; at the hollow's edge. Below, out of view from the rock, lay a lion. On his side. His legs out straight and shaking, shaking, still then shaking again. His mouth hung open, panting. Eyes greyed; open but unseeing. Dying.

Another lion came. Strong, frightened. Caring, uncertain. He wanted to stop it. Did not know how. No one to stop it: shaking, drooling, staring, dying.

Thunder. The buzzards flew. The lion ran off. He stood watching. The man came. He too stood. The un-living lion saw nothing. Just breath rasping, gasping his life out. Head raised. Not much. Too much. Eyes plead. For release.

The man looked away. Looked back. Stick raised. In an instant thundered the life out. Dying no more. At peace.

Then he was walking. Beside the lioness and the lion. Going to the rock.

"Your grandfather is dead."

The lioness stopped. Head hanging. The lion looked back.

"Three days. It wasn't long, he didn't suffer." He lied. She knew.

"What killed him? The man?"

"Yes… no. I don't know."

"Was it like the others?"

"Yes. Yes, it was like the others. The man helped him. Spared him the worst. We few are all that's left."

"We are one?"

"You and I?"

~oOOo~

Nengwalamwe suddenly felt something cool splash over his closed eyes. He was surprised to realise that he could open them a little and look ahead. He felt almost alive, his head still felt as though a rhinoceros was sitting it on but the debilitating weakness of his trek to the waterhole had left him. He felt the sun square on his off flank, when he fell the sun had been almost directly ahead. His thirst was unabated and burned into him stronger than the sun. He tried to get up, for a moment the mud held him back, then his returning strength won the battle and he rose to his paws.

One leg at a time he pulled his paws slowly from the drying mud and moved forwards to the soupy water's edge. He carefully drew forward so that his hind paws almost touched his front. He leaned out over the still water and reached down to the surface. He lapped vigorously, splashing almost as much of the water over his muzzle as that he managed to drink. For over a minute he drank, luxuriating in the taste of the water, never had he appreciated just how good it was to drink. He let the cooling water run down his nose and even into his mane. He didn't care about what he looked like, he just cared that he was alive.

"Bet that hit the spot, eh, kid?"

Nengwalamwe lifted his head, water running down from his chin in threads that quickly turned to drips. He looked across the surface, his eyes following the ripples that spread away from him. Coming to the opposite edge of the pool he saw that baboon sitting watching him. His head felt so painful when he moved that he immediately dismissed all ideas of chasing the monkey.

"What are you doing here?" he asked tiredly.

The baboon spit a stream of water past his ear and grinned. "Drinkin', same as you. What's it look like, I'm havin' a bath or somethin'?"

Nengwalamwe grimaced as the light breeze turned a little bringing the baboon's scent over the water, "Not that you couldn't use one."

The baboon pulled a face. "Ingrate. That's a fine way to talk to a guy who's busy savin' your behind."

"Saving me? YOU? You couldn't save me, I'm a lion." Nengwalamwe was sure his head was about to explode and hoped that a simple pretence of power would impress the monkey.

The monkey rolled his eyes. "You think water splashes over you by itself, huh?"

Nengwalamwe now realised that it must have been the baboon that had woken him. Before he could stop himself he did something quite selfless.

"Thank you - for saving my life I mean."

"Wellll..." The baboon shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean, I didn't save your life, you just had a bad touch of the sun. You'da been OK come sundown."

"Yeah? Well, I've still gotta thank you. And yeah, I needed that for sure, like I need something else too." Nengwalamwe's eyes gleamed. "Say Bald-arse..."

"What, Hairball?"

"Are you sick?"

The baboon looked agitated and fidgeted uncomfortably.

"No, I'm doin' great, whatd'ya want to know for eh?"

"Oh nothing really, I just was wondering if you might drop dead so I could eat you."

The baboons fidgeting burst into a dash to one side of the side of the pool, from where he could scurry away if the lion made a move on him.

Nengwalamwe laughed gently. It hurt. "Hey, it's OK, I wouldn't try to catch you. Not now… I owe you my life."

"Catch me?" the ape shouted back defiantly. "Forget it Fuzzbutt, you'd never do it. Anyhow, you ever heard of the code of the waterhole?"

"Yes, course I have," for a second or two Nengwalamwe struggled to recall his father's lessons by the Kolata. He couldn't quite remember anything about any waterhole code. "Bald-arse, quit calling me Fuzzball."

"Why? You got a name then?" The baboon looked surprised, as though he had not expected lions to have names.

Nengwalamwe winced, and then replied quietly: "Nengwalamwe."

"Really?" The baboon scratched absently at his arm with dexterity that astonished the young lion, picking off and popping an insect into his mouth. "Wow, that's my grandfather's. Was, kinda - he's dead." The baboon looked away adding: "Sort of."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. What happened to him?"

"Somebody decided to have him for dinner." The baboon seemed reticent. Then he gestured to Nengwalamwe, adding, "You know."

"Eaten by a..." Nengwalamwe's voice tailed off as he realised what the baboon must have meant.

The uncomfortable silence that followed was finally broken by the baboon's cough. "Yeah, well if you're done drooling water everywhere, we'd better get you cleaned up."

"Cleaned up! You clean me up? What for?" Nengwalamwe almost attempted a laugh, but the rhino in his head kept on charging. "You got me like this in the first place."

"Hey!" The baboon backed away a couple of paces. "That weren't my fault." For a few seconds he sat watching the lion. Then he did one of the most extraordinary things Nengwalamwe had ever seen. He ran forwards and leapt high, landing in the centre of the pool. Nengwalamwe looked on, totally bemused, until the splashes reached his face. The he recoiled, standing up straight, ears pressed flat against his head as he lifted it above the spray.

"What are you doing? Hey, I almost got wet for crying out loud!"

Nengwalamwe thought that he might not be the only animal to have been touched by the sun that day. The baboon seemed to have gone virtually mad and was splashing around in the water. He even seemed to be enjoying it!

"Come on in Fuzzball! It's really cool!"

Nengwalamwe grimaced. "What? Are you mad? Why in the stars would I want to go in there? It's dangerous!" Yet the baboon did seem not to be in any danger, other than from the ravenous lion standing close by that is. He actually seemed to be positively enjoying splashing around, he seemed to be… no, it couldn't be… the baboon was playing!

"Come on, it'll wash the mud off, it'll cool you down and its great!"

The young lion felt the mud hardening on his underfur. He had not yet managed to get himself fully clean from the last mud bath. What had he to lose but his dignity? If it helped to scare away the rhino in his head then that would be no bad thing too.

"Is there a bottom?"

The monkey gaped mockingly at him. "No! It's bottomless, ya doof. Of course there's a bottom, whadda I look like, a fish? I can stand up in it. Come on in, you'll love it, no one's lookin'." The baboon stopped and peered at him mischievously. "Hey… you ain't afraid of water are ya?"

Despite Nengwalamwe's rhino he was sure he could not let a challenge like that go by unanswered. He backed up a few paces and crouched to spring.

The baboon's grin vanished like lightning. "Hey, not so faaAAAHHHH!"

The lion ran forwards and jumped, landing on the water full length, sending water everywhere. The baboon shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, "...st!" The water surged and rushed over the ape rolling up the muddy sides of the pool, exposing the silty bottom, then turning and slowly filling the pool again. The lion slid along the mud, coming to rest with his nose touching the crouching ape's side.

"I guess I found it huh?" said Nengwalamwe smiling. For a while the ape sat tight, saying nothing. Then he too risked opening aneye.

"Oh yeah, you found it all right," he said, shaking water out of his ears. "Boy, you sure now how to have fun don't ya?"

"Now what?" asked Nengwalamwe as he swished his tail, covering his back with cool water.

"You get yourself clean. Then we'll sort you out somethin' to eat. But you gotta do as I say. You got me, Nengwall… Nengwam… aaah, dammit I never could say it, sorry Gramps… Nengwe?"

Nengwalamwe was already rolling over, feeling the water run down off his belly.

"Sure, I'll do as you say, no problem. Say, you know - this is really great. So what's yours then?"

"My what?" asked the baboon as he splashed out of the way of the frolicking lion's forelegs. "Hey, watch it!"

Nengwalamwe laughed gently, flicking his nose up from the water at the baboon. "Your name of course."

"Aahh… yuh, we'll get you all spruced up an' then we'll go grab ya a snack." The baboon sat up on the pool bottom and looked about uneasily: at the banks, at the trees to the west, the overlooking tower of the rock, at anything other than Nengwalamwe.

"There's no need to go, I've got everything I need right here: fresh juicy fat baboon."

"HEY! You said you weren't gonna eat me, fuzzbutt!"

"I don't eat my friends, and I kinda remember the names of my friends. I don't remember yours though, so you.. can't be my friend, can you?" Nengwalamwe lifted a paw from the water, splashing the baboon's face. The baboon pulled back his lips, exposing his teeth, but he made no sound. Nengwalamwe partially extended his claws and waited…

The sodden ape let his lips close slowly. "Mtundu, my name is Mtundu," he said quietly.

"Really?" Nengwalamwe twisted and licked his shoulder absently. "Wow! That was MY grandfather's name." He licked again with more force, adding, "Sort of."

"No kiddin'?" Mtundu smiled nervously. "Wow, that's cool!"

Nengwalamwe laughed, his rhino was at last running into the distance and he felt alive again. He splashed Mtundu again by slapping his outstretched forepaw down on the water, eliciting an outraged screech from the drenched monkey.

"Got ya!" He said as he watched the muddy water run in thin trails down the baboon's chest. "It wasn't really: One was Ngala; the other, my mother's father, was Mbekiswe. So, what's for dinner?"

~oOOo~

'What am I doing? "Believe me," he says. "Sure, I'll do anything you say. I owe you my life," says I. Never trust a monkey, NEVER,' thought Nengwalamwe as he walked back through the kopje later that afternoon. The heat had abated a little, though it was still oppressive; the humid air clinging to Nengwalamwe's mane. 'What does a baboon know about catching prey? "Trust me," he says, but he knows a couple of lionesses who do catch prey, a lot of prey - they're pretty good at it too, or so he says. Sure, who exactly are these lionesses?' He growled, putting a tree full of birds to instant, swirling flight. He should have spent most of the day asleep but his failure to bring down any prey had put paid to that. 'Yep, you fell for it Nengwalamwe, son of Nengwala. Who else could it have been other than those two self-important…lionesses?' He swung his head from side to side matching the rhythm of his stride. He was a tired, hot and irritated lion, yet through it all his gratitude for Mtundu's selflessness stood firm. The baboon should, in the natural order of the savannah, have provided him with a decent meal, and perhaps he still would, but not in the way Nengwalamwe had earlier expected.

The lion walked on as the day around him slowed in preparation for the evening. Soon, the hush and heat of late afternoon would give way to the excitement and cool of evening, and then to the danger and chill of night: the time of the unseen predator, the huntress. He came, in time, to realise that Mtundu, as unpleasant as he may have been, was right and that his best hope of a decent meal was with his own kind. However, as Mtundu had confirmed, Shaha and Falana were the only lions for many days around. That, while having to make do with what was available was rather irksome, did not concern the lion greatly. It did, however leave him with one puzzling problem: Yali. She must have been Falana's daughter; 'There's no way she's Shaha's, she's well past it' he thought. He had seen no sign that Falana had a cub 'in tow', though lionesses generally left their cubs hidden when they went out hunting. Yali was a bit old to be hiding though; at her age she should have been out with her mother learning how to hunt. It was something else that was strange about this place; the baboon saving him being another.

The more Nengwalamwe thought on, the more he came to realise that there was nothing else for it but to swallow his pride and throw himself upon Faha and Shalana's mercy. A bit of the old soft eyes and rubbing along their sides wouldn't go amiss of course. 'Oh yes, mustn't forget to put on a bit of a purr, that always brings out their maternal instincts.' His fur was now in perfect condition for such a meeting; indeed it was rather too soft and seemed to stick up as if it had a life of its own.

Nengwalamwe stopped thinking for a moment and hurriedly curled round and licked down another patch on his back that had decided to stick up. He had let the baboon deal with the top of his mane which even Nengwalamwe's tongue couldn't quite reach. He might even have made a decent job of it. He had certainly spent enough time fiddling with the long dark bay fur.

Anyway, it had all been the lionesses' fault; they must have been alone together for so long they had forgotten how to treat a lion. 'I can't blame them. I suppose I ought to forgive them.'

He thought it best to play up his troubles with the incredibly aggressive wild dogs. After all, if they had attacked and chased him, then they must have given the lionesses some trouble too: 'I'll make sure they can hunt in peace. Hunt for me of course, they'll not be able to resist when they realise I'm going to save them from those dogs. That's what lions are for, to protect lionesses, and get their just rewards: warm food and the occasional warm body.' He smiled, before hoping, quietly and very much to himself, that the dogs were not going to show up and force him to do any actual protecting.