What's Love Got to Do with It?

The pride had no name for the place Nala chose to hunt. It was a non-descript valley – once a tributary of the ancient Nonda. Nala called it Moon Silver Valley for the way the moonlight played over its slopes. Too small and confined for the teeming herds, it was only smaller, more agile prey that grazed its low, tight grasses. Tree and brush-less, it offered precious little cover for predators, save for a few isolated ridges and rises on the lower slopes.

… "You're one of them friends of Sarabi, ain't ya?"

Lionesses thought of most other animals as "prey" – big prey, fast prey, dangerous prey, tasty prey and inedible prey. They ranked them by size, taste and ease of hunting. Every lioness had their favourite. Nala knew what she was after – impala – and they were going to get it. Smaller, that meant easy enough to drag, but fast, agile and alert, making hunting more about slink and sprint than stalk and strike. With few mouths to feed, the effort of their hunting was rewarding; the fine-grained meat having a comparatively delicate taste. They also had less blood to be washed off later. Larger prides took them down if the opportunity presented, or need demanded, but they were generally not prey of choice.

… "What?! Of course I'm not."

… "Yeah, but you are Nala."

The moon had set; the storms past leaving only occasional flashes in the distant sky and a thin layer of cloying but fast drying mud over loose, gritty sand. Nala padded over a starlit ridge and descended into the valley. Once below the ridge-line she stopped and sank down to scan the valley. It was beautiful as always, but empty and quiet. In the stillness she wondered why she was doing this. To feed a power-mad tyrant who'd banished her for daring to refuse him? No, Scar wasn't all bad, and he had understood what 'no' meant. Even if he had killed his own brother to take the pride, it didn't mean he deserved to starve to death. That sort of thing happened in some prides; males did that stuff, and anyway, it wasn't as if he had killed her mate.

… "Maybe we can't believe everything Scar says."

Mufasa's pride, Scar's pride, Sarabi's pride even, the Nonda, was small compared to many. It had only eight or nine lionesses – counting was no lion's strong point. As in all prides, many of the lionesses were close relations: daughters, sisters, parents, grandparents, cousins, nieces and aunts. In contrast, the Nonda had only ever had one pride male, and just a few cubs. Nala, while hardly a cub in any other sense, was sometimes, and much to her annoyance, treated like one.

… "Ooo, very frightening I'm sure, but I'm not shaking see? Simba's daddy ain't going to leap in and save you this time. Now, you had better run along home."

It could be forgiven for thinking that in such a small, tight-knit group, that everyone would know everything about everyone. However, that was rarely the case in any pride, no matter how much the lionesses would insist it was so.

Regarding practical matters, it was true enough. Every lioness knew who the patient stalkers were and who liked to take the flank – Sarabi's mother, Narala, was resolutely a left-flanker; who had the power for the first strike and who would be best left to go long in the event the prey got wind of the point and broke early.

Every lioness had secrets; they needed them to keep sane. They were what differentiated one lioness from another. They were the rungs on which the ladder of pride hierarchy was ascended.

… "…one of them friends of Sarabi."

Sarafina was the pride's undisputed master hunter, but she could not lead the pride. It wasn't that she had once been an outsider, that wasn't unusual. It was all that Sarabi and she had shared as friends that meant that, barring some terrible accident, Sarafina would probably have had to use force to take the pride. Even then she'd risk splitting the pride in the taking.

With Narala's recent death, there was no one left that knew for sure who Sarabi's father had been, not even Sarabi herself. She certainly had never met him.

… "Hey, come on now, let's give our king and queen a little room."

Mating was the one thing over which lionesses, and lions, could expect any privacy. One awkward fact was that in all prides there were never enough males to go round. For any lioness to have an exclusive claim on a lion was practically unheard of. Who lionesses chose to father their cubs was up to them.

… "Nah, can't be. Look at her belly, she ain't with cub."

In prides where there was more than one male – often brothers and occasionally fathers and sons –the males made a big song and dance, not to mention lots of noise, about their rights to choose, often resulting in fights over who would mate… first. While only occasionally fatal, these fights often left more than pride broken.

… "Hmm. Well, just what did your boyfriend say, Nala?"

The reality was that the females had most of the power. As they came into season they would offer themselves to whomever they felt would be the best father for their cubs. Their reasons for their choices were not always obvious, or even rational. Lions came and went and were often little involved in the day to day upbringing of the cubs they sired.

A lioness in full season was a daunting and exhausting prospect for any male, no matter how strong and fit they were. It was by no means unknown for another male, even an outsider not with any pride – to accompany a lioness to the end of her season. Litters could well be of cubs from more than one father. Despite the exhaustion, hardship, and unalloyed joy, the allure and company of a willing lioness was something few males could resist, even if for just a few fleeting hours.

… "No, of course. We did hear you're his queen. Didn't we?"

This made Scar's approach to Nala all the more puzzling. She had indeed come in to season, but that had passed weeks before, with her not offering herself to any lion. She perhaps might have done had 'any lion' not meant Scar. She kept any desires she may have had, her secrets, even, or perhaps especially, from her mother.

…"I suppose I can't blame you; but I don't see he's that much of a catch."

Scar had oddly tried to force himself on her out of season. Almost every male old enough to show a mane knew that was most likely going to end in deep claw wounds all over their head and forequarters. When a lioness said 'no' it meant, 'I'll kill you if you even as much as sniff me!' Maybe Scar had done it to test his power, or indeed, to press it. Did he do it to show he could, to demonstrate his ownership and control of Nala? Why had he not tried his luck with Sarabi, or Sarafina, who had an arguably undeserved reputation for rarely saying no? Was it that Nala had always been expected to become the next Pridelands queen, and that as Scar was the 'next' Pridelands king, she 'naturally' belonged to, and was beholden to him? Why, evidently, had he boasted to the hyenas that he had had Nala, when the evidence – cubs – would clearly not come? No one knew. Well, Scar did, but he was hardly likely to tell anyone now. It was still far from certain that he'd ever say anything to anyone again.

…"Oh really? No little Scars on the way, eh?"

Darker - still no prey. Nala rose, stretching fully before setting off down slope in full view of the valley. She paused with her forepaws on one of the few covering ridges, yawned, looked hopefully to the valley head, and then settled down to become another knoll on the valley side.

Nala didn't have to wait long before four or five hornless antelope, somewhat larger than gazelle, coloured to melt into the driest grasslands – impala – meandered into the valley. The lead stopped and, head up and ears pricked, looked up the valley for any signs of danger. The others glanced around casually, and then brushed past the lead confidently. They knew that leopards generally hunted by day and that hyena and lion rarely came to the valley. Though there was that one, that someone had said they saw once, but that was just after dawn. Despite that, that one lioness watched them keenly.

… "I've not got food: there's nothing for you here."

To most lionesses, one impala looks very much like any other, but Nala sized them up carefully, looking to see which was most alert, and which might not see her until it was too late. All were healthy, young adult females, un-horned, without calves -no easy kill, but at least they were slowly heading up the valley. Nala waited, letting them close to her, letting them walk into her trap. However, they appeared to be in no hurry; grazing the grass, heads low, only occasionally looking up to check for trouble they knew could not be there.

… "Scar, sleeping? With you?"

All the time they were getting closer, all the time the gritty mud hardening uncomfortably between Nala's toes and around her pads and claws. She hoped the group would drop their guard completely and thin as they approached so that she might pick off a back-marker, but they stayed tightly together.

… "Scar's not my boyfriend!"

At least the slope favoured Nala; the group steadily worked their way up the valley toward her. As long as they were moving, Nala knew she had a chance. If they stopped, stock still, then they had seen, smelt or heard her. It would only be a few tense seconds before they turned, leaping away. In those seconds she had to be up and closing on them. If she gave them time to accelerate, they would outrun her. She had to be on them, leaping up to get a claw-extended forepaw on them, or to knock them down, within ten or fifteen lengths, any further and they'd be certain to get away.

… "Scar, sleeping? With you?"

Nala tensed her shoulders. She edged forwards, belly to the ground. Five impala with no idea what awaits them graze closer. Nala tightened her forelegs, stretching the skin over her shoulders tight.

… "…not my boyfriend!"

The grass was fresher now after the rain: long tufts green. Close enough. No, not quite. Yes, they are. Which? Strain forwards, just lift belly off the ground. There, that one.

… "…not my boyfriend!"

Now!

An impala in the middle of the group widened her eyes. She froze, terror struck. No time, just moments that stretched like eternity. Twist away – slow, too slow. Don't look back. Run! Leap! Land, run. Leap again. Breath - the scent of death. Pounding behind. Run, run, run.

Nala sprang and shot forward. The impala stood for a moment, then ripped and tore itself away. Nala landed her first forepaw falls painfully. Her toes not closing, splayed apart, held apart by something hard, gritty, and unyielding. She lurched forward, her near forepaw almost turning under her, pain spearing up her leg. The gap widened, the prey scattered, arcing high into the air, crossing, kicking - confusing.

… "Scar, sleeping? With you?"

They were gone, so close, but running, getting away. Nala slowed, breathing hard after less than twenty lengths. So close, but now so far. She stumbled to a halt. Her breath heavy in the slightly moist air. Yes, that was it, the moist air. She led her forepaw up and turned her head to look at it. The mud had hardened, that was it. That was what had happened.

… "…not my boyfriend!"

Nala limped back to the ridge and lay down. She kept her forelegs out in front of her, and began to noisily lick and suck at them, trying to clean the mud from between her toes.

… "…my boyfriend!"

As the sky began to lighten, just before dawn, she drifted into light, fitful sleep.

Mothers always told their daughters to never give their heart to a lion; not that it did much good. Lionesses that did often doomed themselves to grief and heartbreak. Only a few ever could even afford to dream of such deep attachments. Just as it was for some lions to sire cubs on many lionesses, it was the lot of most lionesses to take what short days of affection came their way. It was said that some lionesses that loved, all but lost their minds to grief when it ended, and end it always did, often suddenly and bloodily. Sarabi, it now seemed, was one of those lionesses. Nala was determined not to become the next.

… "Ah yes, I remember. You were all alone with your first boyfriend, you know the little one."

Love, like a master huntress, would never willingly let go once it had its claws in its prey. Love though, was playing maybe its cruellest trick on Nala. A trick that was just a glimmer of faint hope; a moment of distraction, an impossible dream. The truth was that she had no way of knowing what he even looked like. She was in love with a distant memory, a ghost: her own lost past. At least her ghost might be of love yet to come.

"Psst, Nala?"

"Shush Simba! What do you want? Can't you see I'm trying to-" Nala snapped her head round. "… Hunt… here?" Her ears dropped. She let her shoulders slump down, the tension dissipating in a shiver down her back and flanks.

"Hunt? Hunt what? I see no prey, not much of anything really. And you call me 'eccentric'!"

"Rafiki! You could get yourself killed sneaking up like that!"

"I'm still here; haven't got me yet. You still like Simba don't you?"

"It… shows?"

"More than those dark patches behind your ears."

"What?" Nala hurriedly licked a forepaw and tried to wash it off, dropping and turning her head with each stroke.

"No, no. It won't come off, it's part of you. Can't hide it."

Nala abandoned her attempted washing with her forepaw at her neck. She let it drop slowly, lifting her head in an attempt to look as if nothing had happened.

"Nala, have you ever been to the mountains?"

"No!" Nala turned her head to face Rafiki. "You know I've never been off the Pridelands."

"Ah yes… Well, up there are three mountains all close together."

"Mountains? What are you on about?"

"Yes, mountains, reaching up to the sun. All three high, but one is just a little lower. The way up is rough in places, but easy to follow. Everyone's welcome up there. The view from the top is great, but often shrouded in clouds. Be sure Nala, it's still a mountain. No mountain is easy to climb."

"Rafiki, why would anyone want to climb a mountain? Why are you bothering me, ruining my hunt?"

"Nala! Why do you want to hunt eh? Because- because they want to get to the top- because it's there, because it's not just a mountain, because…"

"OK, OK I get it…. So there's this mountain."

"No!" Rafiki shook his head stiffly. "Lions! Give me…" He paused, breathing deeply, closed his eyes, and then brought his hands together in front of his nose before lowering them deliberately down his chest. "Three Mountains; when they get to the top, they can see-"

"-When it's not cloudy."

"Yes, Nala, when it's not cloudy-"

"- Or dark – you can't see far when it's dark."

"Yes, yes, or dark." Rafiki paused. After a few moments he nodded and went on, "Everyone that goes up the mountain can see the highest peak not far off. It's always above the clouds, you can see for ever up there, but it's got no easy way up. It's only been climbed once; it's shrugged off everyone else that's tried."

"Rafiki, is there a point to this? I'm kinda hunting here."

"Pbbt! Look, look! Still no prey. Where are they, eh?"

Nala shook her head.

"But there's still one other peak, almost as high: jagged and rough and mysterious. No one's ever climbed it, no one. No one knows the way up, or even if there is a way. No one knows what the view is like from up there: beautiful, magnificent, wonderful even, but no one's seen it. Who will be first, maybe the only one, to climb it?"

"No lion, that's for sure; if they have any sense."

"Don't be so sure. You never know."

"Rafiki-"

"It'll take someone determined – very special - but one day someone will conquer that mountain, stand on the top, exhausted but triumphant, and see that view and say 'Wow! Isn't this great?'"

"Right…" Nala fixed Rafiki with a look that would have shot terror into most prey. "Don't move."

Rafiki sat, his eyes darting from side to side, without moving his head. He shrunk a little further down, saying nothing.

Nala spoke quietly, annunciating precisely. "Don't move, and don't say another word."

Rafiki sat stiffly. Nala inched forward momentarily, held still, and then moving again, ears forward, looking intently past Rafiki, moving silently to his side. The scent, heat, and powerful presence of Nala were overwhelming. Rafiki felt her side pressing on him as she breathed, and her quickening heartbeat through the ground.

When she burst up he felt it as a shaking of the ground and a rush of hot fur tearing over his side. He didn't turn to watch. It didn't take long. He knew that the terrifying privilege of standing intimately close to such animals had a price, a price that he was thankful an impala had to pay. Having no desire to see it torn apart, he slipped away, leaving Nala to finish her terrible business alone.