MLK Writing Contest #21 [Voting]

[DGFone]

So I counted the amount of submission I got. I did not see this coming: seven! That's right: two votes per person once more, because we have a very nice number of submissions. Than you to all the authors who wrote for this contest and submitted their stories! So now it's time to vote on which story is going the overall favorite of the bunch:

[quote]
Story 1:

Outsiders: show

Outsiders

The golden sun was hanging low in the sky, bathing the whole savannah in a brilliant hazy orange light. There was an air of tranquillity and calm as the distant calls of birds echoed across the plains and the light breeze ruffled the tops of the long grass, causing it to sway gently. To any onlooker it would have seemed as though the peace would be forever.

This was not the case, however. In an instant, the near silence was shattered by a chorus of yowls. Two cubs, one’s pelt mirroring the colour of the glowing sky, the other’s as murky and dark as the earth beneath their paws, were locked in a violent tussle. Before long, the former had flipped the latter onto his back with a thud. He stood above him, smiling triumphantly, pressing his clumsily over-sized cub paws onto the chest of his quarry.

“Yes!” he cried, celebrating his victory, “pinned ya!”
“Simba!” the other cried, with difficulty, “get off me!”
“Nu-uh,” came the reply, “a king can do whatever he wants.”
And, with that notion, in one fluid movement his paws were atop the other cub’s throat. With a devious grin, he slowly, gradually, began to press his weight down.

“S-Simba!” the cub choked “Stop!”

But he didn’t. He just kept pushing, bearing nearly his entire force down upon his dark companion, the eyes of which were bulging out from their sockets.

“I… c-can’t… BREATHE!”

Simba’s eyes were alight with malice, clearly savouring in the other cub’s struggle. He was very much smaller than him, scrawny looking with unkempt fur. His weak attempts to throw his oppressor off were pitiful.

“If you want me to get off, Chako, just ask me nicely,” he said, letting each word fall delicately from his lips, whilst his victim continued to flail beneath him.

“Get off me!”

“Get off me what?”

“Get off me please!”

“Get off me please what?”

“I… I w-won’t say… s-ay it!”

“Fine, then.”

With no time for Chako to react, Simba’s entire weight, and then some, were being forced down upon his neck, the latter’s devious laugh mingling with the former’s gurgling.

“Say it!” Simba squealed, “if you want to live say it!”
He could barely suppress his excitement.

“Please… g-g-get off… your ma… your m-”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“YOUR MAJESTY!!”

In an instant, Simba leapt lightly off him, crying out in triumph as he did so. Chako rolled over onto his belly, spluttering and gasping for air.

“See?” Simba said, once he had stopped laughing, “All you had to do was ask nicely.”

And with that, as though nothing had even happened, he turned on his heel and trotted in the direction of Pride Rock, leaving Chako lying on the Savannah floor.
------------------

Scar, as was his custom, was lying at the rear of his den, staring out at the almost-set sun just visible through the opening. The promontory of Pride Rock was also within sight, not too far away, huge and majestic looking against the deep purple backdrop of the sky. He never went there, even though it was where the rest of the Pride lived, for he knew he was not wanted there, by anyone. The only reason he had been afforded this cess-pit was due to the wishes of his late father, who‘s dying request and final ruling as king was that his youngest son not be run out of the Pride Lands altogether.

He suddenly raised his head off the ground, as a small figure darkened the entrance. Two green orbs, identical to his own eyes, floated towards him through the gloom.

“Chako,” he said, getting to his feet and moving towards him, “where on earth have you been?”

The small cub scuttling towards him said nothing, instead coughing a few times and fixating his gaze upon the ground. Scar peered at him, his excellent eyesight spearing through the darkness rapidly beginning to shroud them and their surroundings.

“You’re all scratched,” he observed, his eyes travelling the length of some fresh gashes on his son’s shoulders, parallel to some faded ones next to them.

“Not again... “ the adult lion sighed, “Chako, what did I tell you about standing up for yourself?”

“I tried, Dad, really I did,” the cub replied, his voice rasping audibly, “but he’s just too big.”

Scar sighed once more, looking down at his cub again. Although he was near enough the same age as his bullying cousin, he was only about half the size. Where most other cubs would have muscle being laid down on their limbs at this stage in life, tiny Chako’s were still thin and bony, and the soft, thick coat he should have had since birth was thin and wispy, causing him to shiver as the onset of night made it colder.

It was a thorn in Scar’s heart to see his son suffer this way, and so many times over. These incidents were not isolated in the slightest. Gently, he bent and lifted his son by the scruff, and carried him to where he had just been lying. Settling down, he set the cub into his paws, and started on licking his wounds clean, a routine task of late.

“Tell me what happened,” he said softly.

He listened as Chako recounted the incident to him. How it had been Simba who had been the first to strike, unprovoked, as usual. This was how almost all of his son’s stories started.

“Then I remembered you saying how I needed to stand up for myself, so I hit back.”

“Good,” Scar mumbled, “what then?”

The larger cub had then launched a full scale attack on his small companion, who had tried, unsuccessfully, to ward off his assailant, ending up on his back. Scar flinched slightly at these words, knowing this had not ended well. The rasp in his son’s voice was still unexplained.

“and then… and then…”

“It’s ok, just say it.”

Chako looked up, his tiny eyes filled with shame. He sniffed very slightly.

“Come on, son,” Scar said, gently, licking the top of his head, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“He… put his paws on my neck. And then he… push…pushed down.”

Scar stopped licking, instead staring at the cub in his paws. His nephew’s attacks had never been as brutal as that before.

“He did what?”

Motioning for him to do so, Scar listened, furiously, as Chako finished the story. By the time he was done, the cub was barely whispering.

“He wouldn’t get off unless I called him “your majesty”.”

Scar was speechless in every sense of the word. His mouth hung open slightly as he continued to look at Chako, who spoke once more.

“I thought I was going to die…”

Huge tears welled up in his tiny eyes before cascading down his wiry cheeks. The little whiskers that poked from his muzzle were crumpled from numerous assaults from the future King. Scar pulled his tiny son closer, letting him nuzzle into his mane.

Scar had never even thought about having cubs of his own. He had always resigned himself to the fact that none of the lionesses would go near enough to him for this to be a possibility. As a result, he had kept to himself after his father’s death, spending as much time in the outlands as he could, letting his thoughts wander.

That was where he had met her. Shanna was her name, and she was just like him. An outsider, cast off by her own family for reasons he had never learned of. They had found solace in each other, spending every day together away from the prying eyes of Scar’s brother and the rest of the Pride, who would have had nothing good to say about it, anyway. With each passing day he fell in love with her, more and more as the earth traced its way around the sun. It seemed as though he had finally found his life’s purpose, the reason he had been born, the reason he was alive and not rotting beneath the African sun.

It wasn’t to last. Soon after they had met she fell pregnant. Already weak from her rouge-ish lifestyle, the life growing inside of her only weakened her more. Their cub barely had time to taste his mother’s milk before she was gone. In his grief, Scar very nearly left him to die with her. The thought of raising their cub without her seemed more than he could bear. But, something had stopped him, and he didn’t know what, whether it was Shanna’s presence or that of Aiheu himself.

He had rushed back to the Pride Lands, carrying his precious bundle in his jaws. His brother Mufasa’s mate had just given birth recently, too. Surely, he had thought, she could manage one more? No one could be so callous as to deny milk to such a visibly weak cub.

He had been so wrong. The look of sheer outrage on his brother’s face at this notion had never left Scar’s mind. How dare he attempt to muscle in on the royal son’s milk reserves?

“But, Mufasa, look at him! He’ll die soon if he doesn’t eat!”

Mufasa looked from the minuscule cub on the ground before him to his own son behind him, healthy, twice the size and resting in-between his still-living mother’s paws.

“Then so be it.”

As far as Mufasa was concerned, that was the end of it. With that, he turned his
back on them, diverting his attention to his own cub.

“So that’s it?” Scar had cried, “whatever happened to that “Circle of Life” you care so much about?!”

Mufasa had whipped around, a furious look upon his face.

“It’s exactly as the circle says. Some live. Some die And when they do you move on, because there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But you can right now!” Scar cried again, not backing down, “for the love of the gods, Mufasa, I’ve already lost his mother. Don’t let me lose him, too!”

His pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and it became apparent that no one was going to help him. No one was allowed to, for Mufasa had forbidden him to request the same of Sarafina, who also had given birth not too long ago. Not to be defeated, Scar resolved to rear the cub himself in whatever way he could. In the time it took for his tiny new born teeth to grow just a little bit into proper teeth, he very nearly had died, not knowing how to chew the shreds of meat Scar tried to give him from the scraps he was left by the rest of the Pride. But, somehow, some way, he had survived. As far as Scar was concerned, it was destiny.

And so, here they were, pretty much completely alone in the world apart from each other. They had been living together in Scar’s pathetic excuse for a den for several moons now, sharing the small scraps of meat that had not been increased despite an extra mouth to feed.

“Dad?” came Chako’s tiny voice through the darkness.

“Yes, son?”

“Why does everyone hate us?”

Scar paused for a little moment to think.

“Well, I don’t think they hate us. They just don’t know what to make of us.”

“But then why-?”

“Scar!”

Chako in his paws flinched as another figure darkened their doorway, his voice echoing around the walls of the small den.

“Mufasa,” Scar said, monotonously, “what a nice surprise to see you here.”

Mufasa did not greet him back, not even sarcastically.

“Simba arrived home not too long ago. He had a cut on his leg. He says your son did it.”

“Yes, he did,” Scar said, very matter-of-factly, “right after your son did it to him.
And many times before.”

“Nonsense,” Mufasa retorted, quickly, “Simba wouldn’t lie to me, he knows better than that.”

“But, he’s not lying, is he? He’s just not telling the whole truth. Maybe you ought to teach Simba better.”

“Silence,” Mufasa growled, dangerously, “tell your son not to touch him again.”

Casting his scathing gaze across Chako, who as far as he was concerned shouldn't even be alive right now, he swept out of the den. Scar, indignant, was hot on his heels.

“And maybe while you’re doing that you can teach him not to be such a bully!”

“Lies!” Mufasa roared, turning to face Scar once more, “your son’s just like you! Weak and over reactive and-!“

“My son’s name is Chako, Mufasa! And just because you’ve just found out your precious son isn’t flawless doesn’t mean you have to take it out on him!”

He barely had time to finish his sentence before an enraged Mufasa leapt for him, a colossal roar exploding out of his muzzle as he raked his huge claws across his brother’s shoulder, leaving him a mark identical to Chako’s.

“Don’t you dare,” Mufasa breathed, “speak of your future King like that.”

Scar couldn’t even be bothered to answer him with anything. Instead, he turned on his heel and made to go back into the den.

“Don’t turn your back on me, Scar!”

Scar glanced over his shoulder.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have turned your back on me,” he muttered.

Not quietly enough. Mufasa erupted into a roar once more, bounding in front of his brother.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

“Alright,” Scar said, “maybe you shouldn’t have turned your back on me.”

Mufasa glared back at him, clearly too angry to even roar again.

“If it weren’t for father,” he said, slowly, “I’d kill the both of you right now.”

And that was the end of it. He turned and left without another word, headed in the direction of Pride Rock and his comfortable bed and his loving family and adoring subjects. Scar turned and re-entered his cave. His blood was boiling, hatred and rage filling him. He couldn’t put up with this any longer. It wasn’t fair.

He thought of his nephew and how corrupt he was, and how his equally corrupt brother was completely blind to it. He thought of how much he hated his brother. He thought of Chako, and what would happen to him when he was gone. Mufasa would have nothing to do with him, and would definitely not grant him the mercy that Scar’s father had of instructing Simba not to run him out of the Pride Lands all together. He would surely die on his own, left to be pecked apart by vultures in the desert… He couldn’t let that happen… he had to leave him with a fighting chance.
Chako was cowering at the rear of the den, peering fearfully up at his father as he approached.

“Dad,” he said, shakily, “you’re hurt…”

“I’ll be fine,” Scar said, “it’s not that bad.”

He pulled his son closer to him once more, nuzzling the top of his head.

“What’s going to happen to us now?”

Scar looked down at him, his mind abuzz with thoughts.

“Go to sleep, Chako, we’re going to be fine.”

He stared out of the den entrance again at the silhouette of Pride Rock, dark and looming against the night sky.

“I’m going to make things better.”

Story 2:

Heavy hangs the crown: show

Heavy hangs the crown

“You know that we agreed to this,” Nala said warmly before plucking up her cub in between her jaws.

“I know, I know, it’s just that I would rather play.” Kiara whined. When she was only a few weeks old, she would squirm and whine. Oh, how she hated her baths. They prevented her from doing the things that she loved the most: catching bugs, chasing butterflies, and scaring the gophers who helped her dad.

“There’s plenty of time for that later. You know, I used to enjoy my baths.”
“Yup. He was more interested in doing other things. One time we got in trouble because we had that encounter with the hyenas.” Nala began before she ran her tongue along her daughter’s coat. Long and tender strokes. Never rushed.

“I heard about that. It’s amazing how you and dad survived. I still find it hard to believe that you did that!” Kiara marveled.

“Your father has a way of…..convincing others to do things. It’s something that he got from his father.”

“That would have been so cool to see! He was giving those hyenas a sucker punch!” Kiara beamed.

“Oh, it was scary. Being a ruler is not an easy job, Kiara. No one ever said it was. In fact, your grandfather had to do a lot of things that he found really challenging.”

“Really?” Kiara asked upon hearing the revelation.

“Oh, yes. I remember one particular time your grandfather had a very difficult issue to solve.”

Kiara turned around and looked at her mother, curious about the secret she was about to tell.

“If you stop squirming, will you let me tell you what happened?” Nala gazed down at her daughter. She was such a spitting image of Simba. She had inherited his knack for getting into trouble, his distaste for a proper grooming, and his curiosity. However, Simba did bequeath his love of a great story and it was only then that his mother was able to get him to sit still when she tried to clean him.


The sun shone brilliantly over the plains. Green grasses intermingling with various pinks and oranges suggested a healthy and bountiful harvest which was perfect for the plant eaters. The gardens of various flowers along the savanna added visual appeal. This was enhanced by the rich water supply that had finally arrived after months of dry weather. The water was a rich cobalt color. The rainy season had rewarded his kingdom with a rich and sustainable share that would last them for months. The herd of elephants stripped bark and leafy greens from the trees. Close by, the zebras grazed contentedly. Gazelle leapt over the grasslands. Their lightness on their feet and delicate build made them look as if they were flying throughout the lowlands.

Mufasa marched forward, surveying his land. The herds were plentiful in number. This bode well for the predators. He had just agreed to a treaty with the leopards, cheetah, and wild dogs about the division of prey. As long as they respected each other’s space and agreed not to stalk in each other’s hunting grounds, they all tolerated one another. After all, it is they who would keep the herds from overpopulating and stripping the Pride Lands from its beauty.

Although the predators respected one another’s strengths, Mufasa, by virtue of being the lion, would dictate how the social code of the Pride Lands would be enforced. Although no one knew just exactly how or why the rule was enforced, they all saw the story of the First Lion whose combination of strength, honor, and social influence as a prime example and the reason for why Mufasa and all those who came before and after him were the ones who dictated public relations. That was not to say that just because one was born a lion did not mean that they were better than all the others.

The cheetah had speed, while the lion’s bulk would slow him down.

While the leopard had stealth, the lion’s mane would detract from that.

The hunting dog was another social animal with impressive hunting skills, but they were no match for the lion who by sheer size along overpowered them.

Diplomacy was the language in this land. Although they may have differed in various ideologies,at the end, they were all part of the delicate balance. Each was as important as the other. This was how social protocol operated under Mufasa’s rule of the Pride Lands.

Mufasa and his family before him earned the respect of the other animals, both predator and prey alike. He was wise, compassionate, and understanding. He had earned the reputation of being an understandable ruler who would listen to all problems, both large and small.

It did not help that his brother, Scar, was not interested in aiding in social issues. He preferred to spend time in his cave doing whatever it is he did. What he wanted was something far more than what Mufasa gave him. Eventually, he stopped asking his brother for help and kept guard over his kingdom quietly and alone.

His duties increased. The demands were becoming larger. He spent less time at Pride Rock. He began to overtax himself.

Migrations came and went. Seasons changed. Cubs grew and left.

Zazu, his trustful aide would help him weed out which issues that needed his pertinent attention. Zazu would lighten the mood by performing a small song and dance. That was how despondent the situations had become. The porcupines had a thorn on their side because the cheetahs were prospering. There was also the issue between the elephants and baboons. According to the secretary birds, the elephants never forgot about the time the baboons went ape at the lagoon and now they did not wish to share the body of water.

The conferences and meetings were becoming so intricate and complex that Mufasa enacted an Edict that would not only lessen the number of burdens on his back, but gave some power back to the others when problems came at a head. If the issue took place between an egret and a heron, then the birds would form a Congress and decide amongst themselves who was in the right. If a dispute had occurred between the crocodiles and the hippos, then it would be up to the aquatic animals to determine the solution to the problem.

The afternoon was slowly giving way to a hazy pinkish hue in the sky. The herds tensed and huddled closely together, but were cordial upfront when he walked by. Social grace superseded any fear or inborn hatred of the other. That was the rule. It was the way of Africa.

It was looking as if he would be turning in early. That was until Zazu flew within his periphery with a frantic look was on his face.

“Sire, there is an urgent matter!”

“Who is involved?” Mufasa questioned tensely. He trusted Zazu as an extra pair of eyes and he would determine if the matter could be resolved on its own or if his guidance was necessary. Zazu’s face suggested something otherwise.

“The crocodiles and the hippos, sir.”

Wonderful. Two of the most stubborn and head strong creatures of the savanna. Girth against teeth. This would not be an easy task. It never was with these were heavy weights. Even lions avoided confrontations with these two. To add to it, they occupied a realm in which lions hated: water.

“How many are involved?”

“Um, the entire two groups, sire…..there is an extra variable, sir. The buffalo are involved.” The bird said finally.

”Zazu said nervously.

Mufasa’s eyes tensed. It was one thing when two animals or two groups were arguing about land or water. This was a dire matter.

“As I understand, the migrations were very late this year. They need to tread down river if they wish to drink. The water belongs to the crocodiles and hippos. It is out of my control, Zazu.”

“Sire, it isn’t about that. You see, there is a calf.” Zazu said nervously. Mufasa turned back.

“A calf?” The King said grimly.

“A buffalo calf somehow became entangled and is now stuck on a very small and steep island in the middle of the water. I do believe that somehow during the crossing, he had managed to walk alongside the herd and reached the bit of land. He lost his mother and could not find her. When she realized where her son was, the entire herd had finally crossed the river. They are not intent on leaving, sir.”
Mufasa looked toward the horizon. The sun may have been setting for another day, but a King’s job never rests. He could easily leave the job up to the ones involved in the dispute. By default, the crocodiles should have access to the calf for he was now in their territory. The buffalo, with their immense numbers can surely afford a loss. The circle of life was meant to be followed. No one ever said it was easy. He decided to investigate the matter. Buffalo were not to be trifled with.

Especially when their leader was led by the old bull, Kufa.

When Mufasa arrived, a mass of black had gathered along various parts of the river bank. Crocodiles were dispersed throughout the water. Some snapped their jaws in a taunting fashion, trying to keep the large bovines away. Others circled the calf who was clearly stressed. His little legs circled back and forth from the edge of the island, trying to stay away from the mass of scales, claws, and teeth. He only had a few feet of rock and water between himself and the reptiles. The scene was so tense that even the elephants, tsessebe and Safa the leopardess had looked on.

Mufasa marched forward, determined to get to the root of the problem. Crocodiles were not easy to negotiate with. The general rule of thumb was that anything that fell in the water belonged to the crocs.

“What’s going on?” Mufasa proclaimed proudly.

Whispers of his name and ‘His Majesty’ fluttered throughout the watering hole. Although Mufasa ruled the lands, even the crocs and hippos had to acknowledge him. It wasn’t long before they too turned to the banks. The largest of the crocs, Zungu, swam forward. The wildebeest anxiously stepped away, giving the large crocodilian wide berth.

“This does not concern you, Lion.” The scaly beast said warningly.

Lions and crocs did not always have the easiest relationship. They merely tolerated one another.

“I have been told that there is an issue on the waterfront, Zungu,” Mufasa said warningly.

“There is……….but it isn’t something that you can handle,” the large croc rumbled.
Zungu and his kind looked very different, almost alien, when compared to the animals on the savanna plains. Mufasa remembered the story he was told as a cub about the mysteries of the waters and the secrets that it held. The long row of teeth, the rough and scaly skin, the large bulk and lightning speed when they propelled in the water were amongst some of the reasons as to why the land dwellers, as the crocs called them, feared them. As an adult, Mufasa knew that those stories were myth and pure superstition. Yet, he also knew that he could not underestimate the reptilian behemoths.

“And tell me, why not?” Mufasa said sternly. He saw the calf in the middle of the bank. He was very frightened and shaken. At the other side of the river, the large herd of buffalo waited anxiously. Kufa, their leader, snorted angrily.

“Stay out of this one, Lion! You may be king but you are nothing without your harem!”

Mufasa did not expect complete cooperation but even then, Kufa’s words struck him. The King knew that he had to maneuver the situation carefully.

“I am not here as a hunter, Kufa. There is no need for that kind of talk!” Mufasa roared back.

“Bah! You lions, always taking advantage of these kinds of situations! Leave us!”
Kufa was not without reason for his aggression. Lions and buffalo never had the best of relationships. There was a reason why buffalo were nicknamed ‘The Black Death’. It was said that even the hunters, common enemy of all who dwelled in the Pride Lands, would fall victim to them. For this reason, the buffalo were revered. Even the lions had to respect that for that was why man rarely breached these parts.
Mufasa stood his ground. He was not going to let the old bull challenge him openly and in front of everyone on the plains. Kufa’s intense dislike of him goes back to his father’s time. Perhaps, even before. There were rumors with substantial evidence that suggested that Kufa was responsible for the deaths of cubs. To Mufasa, it was a cowardly and despicable act. This was not done out of protection or survival. It was pure selfishness and cowardice. Still, Mufasa could not let past crimes dictate current affairs. As ruler, his role was to see that things ran smoothly. True, he could have left the job up to the crocodiles and buffalo, but this was not about an age old grudge. A life was hanging in the balance. The calf looked at the King with a pleading look in his eyes, wondering if the gold and red haired being was friend or foe.

“Zungu, the zebra migrated here a few days ago. Surely, you should be satisfied with your meal,” Mufasa said sternly.

“Yes, they did but I nor my kind are the type to pass up a free meal.” The others gathered around him, grinning darkly in agreement. “We take what we can.”

“You know the rule about the Innocents.” The lion growled tensely. His voice booming. Safa pulled her cubs close. The antelope huddled nervously. The zebra snorted.

“That only applies to you land dwellers. The rules of the water are different, Your Majesty,” the giant croc warned. “We don’t have the benefit of solid ground.”

“The calf is nothing more than a bargaining chip between yourself and the buffalo. You know well that you wish to have the upper hand over Kufa.” Mufasa said finally.
The buffalo stood aback. Even their leader noticed the truth in Mufasa’s words.
It was clear that the crocs would not cooperate. Mufasa knew that there was one last wild card.

The hippos were bathing at the other end of the spectacle, obviously trying not to get involved and yet, it was like ignoring the pink elephant in the jungle.

“Are you deliberately ignoring this?” Mufasa said angrily.

“We prefer not to get involved. If the crocs have a meal, then that means that they will stay away from our calves,” said an older cow.

“You have no reason to fear the crocodile, your sheer size alone is enough to make them give you the whole watering hole.” Mufasa tried to sweeten the deal.

“Your words are kind, Lord Mufasa, but what is it in for us? If we crush the crocs then the turf wars over these precious waters will never end. I cannot afford to risk another dispute.”

She had reason to be weary. She had lost previous offspring to the crocodiles. This did not have to be, but that did not mean that a young life had to end because a samaritan did not wish to help.

“Kubwa, today is not the day to think about old grudges. Perhaps you have the power to change the course of an old tale and perhaps create a new chapter,” Mufasa said warmly.

“I don’t know what it is you are asking of me, Your Majesty. I am old, I am tired. I have no interest in being a part of this history.” Kubwa began to swim away before Mufasa put down his final trump card.

“If you cooperate with my request, I will grant you some special benefits.” The King said finally.

Kubwa turned back.

“With all due respect, Your Highness, but you are a predator. I am a water dweller. What could you possibly offer that could make me change my mind?”

Her mate, the large bull swam close by, keen on observing the exchange between his mate and the so called King. The Lion may be top animal on the lands, but it is the hippo who outmaneuvers him outside of his realm.

“Do you know of the golden fields just beyond those hills?” Mufasa said finally.
Mufasa was referring to the fertile ground that housed miles upon miles of rich land where herbivores could graze to their hearts content. The zebra and antelope had boasted about being able to dine on such fine cuisine which made the hippos feel cheated. They could not leave the safety of their waterbed for too long because the land was ripe with dangerous elements. It was out of their comfort zone but there was nary a hippo who did not dream of eating from such enriched land, even for just one night.

“I am aware, Your Highness. But what does this have to do with the matter at hand?”
Mufasa smiled, knowing that he was able to connect with her.

“What if I were to say that I will make a deal with the other predators about letting you and your kind to make a trek to the Golden Fields and dine peacefully without fear.”

“It would be disrespectful of me to say that you are bluffing, Your Highness.” The cow blushed.

“In a week’s time, there will be a full moon. You have until the next one to enjoy and savor the grassy fields. I will make a conference with the predators to let them know that I have granted you access to these lands and that you must be left alone peacefully. Before I grant you this request, you must first do me a favor.”

Kubwa and her mate paid close attention. The rest of the hippos listened keenly.
“You must get that buffalo calf back to his herd. Do that and I will make sure that you will be left alone at night when you make your trips during the next full moon.”
Kubwa nodded.

“Your offer is most gracious, My Lord.”
She then swam over to the small island where the calf was trapped. She let the calf step onto her back. To her side, other hippos gathered, acting like body guards. Slowly and gently, she swam and carried him. He slid off to her side and ran to his mother. The reunion was an emotional one. Kufa looked at Mufasa with an apprehensive look in his face. The Lion nodded. Kufa turned back. Mufasa wasn’t sure if the old bull would still carry his grudge or if it would dissipate. He did not know or care for he knew it would take a lot to get respect from a buffalo, especially one as old as him. Mufasa had peace of mind knowing that he made the first steps. If he chose not to acknowledge it, that was up to him.

The others whispered, obviously lauding the King’s ability to negotiate such a delicate matter. He was fair when he had to be, her was merciful when it was necessary. He was firm when it was needed. The buffalo had the calf back, the hippos were promised a bounty for cooperating. The others saw what a fine example the King had proven himself to be. There was one party that was not completely satisfied with the outcome.

“You promised everyone a slice of that cake, King Mufasa. Where is ours?”

“It was because of you that this decision had to be made.” The King said darkly.

“Interesting, aren’t you the one always crowing about the Circle of Life? A croc needs to eat, Your Majesty,” the crocodile said in an acidic tone.

“Not at the expense of exploitation, Zungu.” Mufasa said in a tone full of tension.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The Circle of Life only applies to those who do you favors,” the croc said dimly.

Mufasa ignored the words, not wanting to dignify them with a response.

“Hypocrite. Now, I see why the hyenas have had issues with you and your father.” Zungu said before submerging into the water.

Mufasa closed his eyes, trying to absorb and understand the complexity of the situation. The way he saw it, the crocs were being unfair and were exploiting the situation. He did Kufa a favor. He was now looked up upon by the hippos.

He knew that being a King wasn’t easy. It was never about getting your way all the time. Being a politician had come with its own collection of setbacks.
Mufasa was greeted with accolades and knowing smiles that approved his decisions in regard to the day’s events. Sarabi greeted her husband with a warm gesture. It was a pleasant reminder that even if the subject at matter was difficult and that he could not please everyone, the ones that did matter saw the reason behind his logic. Mufasa’s calm train of thought dissipated upon hearing a familiar and snide voice.

“I heard there was trouble at the water front.”

“There was.” Mufasa stated simply.

“How did you manage?” The low and condescending drawl spoke from the shadows.

“A little diplomacy can go a long way,” the King said firmly.

“The crocs are an unforgiving breed. I would have made them a succulent offer.”

“You would have made them a promise you could never deliver.” The larger lion replied. He looked into the darkness where an outline of a long and sinewy figure loomed.

“You act as if that is not an uncommon occurrence.” The King’s brother emerged from the shadows, sauntering towards him. Although Scar lacked the King’s brute strength, he more than made up for it by his use of his silver tongue.

“I make every attempt to make sure that I follow through my campaigns. You know that, Scar.” Mufasa warned.

“A little bird told me that you promised the hippos access to the fields.”

“I did,” Mufasa replied.

“What if another drought occurs? What choice would Sarabi have if the herds leave and they remain? The waters are no longer steady, brother.” Scar may not have been top cat when it came to physical combat but in psychological warfare, he was second to none.

“I will fulfill my promise.”

“Even if it means that we starve?”

Mufasa had consulted with Rafiki about the weather patterns. For several seasons, he noted the changes. Rafiki hinted at a challenge and how a sacrifice had to be made. Mufasa knew that times were difficult and that he had to make some difficult decisions. This was to be expected. What he hated was having someone who was supposed to be close to him rub salt into the wounds.

“It is temporary and it is for the best.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty. But don’t you believe that your subjects deserve a more practical prognostication? ” Scar said with a snide tone. Mufasa hated that.

“I am practical when I have to be. Public relations were never your strong suit, brother.”
***************************************************************************
“Wow, so even Grandfather Mufasa had some trouble.” Kiara said with eyes full of wonder.

“Mmmhmm. Being Queen is not easy. You have to be prepared with what’s ahead. It’s important for you to understand the politics of the Pride Lands one lesson at a time.” Nala said assuredly.

“So, does this mean that I have to pay attention to Timon and Pumbaa during bug dissection class?” Kiara pondered. Nala laughed gently.

“Put it like this. I would rather you put more effort when you see Rafiki for your weekly ‘Life Philosophy’ lessons.” Nala nuzzled her cub. “It’s getting late.”

“Awww, how about one more story? Please?” Kiara said as she yawned and closed her eyes.

“How about tomorrow, I will tell you the story of Ma di Tau?”

Story 3:

Day 1: show

Day 1

Nala and Simba sat on Pride Rock, they would often sit there and watch the sun set together as the day closed, especially on days where they had been running errands for their parents, as part of the pride, even cubs had to be taught how to survive and hunt, that was their parents way of caring for and raising them. This was especially important for Simba who was the future king.

The sun shined bright over the pride lands, eclipsed only by the majestic beauty of the tip of Pride Rock. Simba and Nala were sat on the edge of the outer rock, not far from the entrance to the pride's cove.

"Hey look at that!" Nala said, motioning to a pack of moles, burying their friends underground and having races with one another along the ground not too far away from where they were.

"What are they doing? Don't they have to hunt and stuff?" Simba said, watching them play and looking a little confused.

"Well I guess they are done for the day, or maybe they are taking a break." Nala added.

"Wouldn't it be great to live like that all the time, y'know, never having responsibilities?" Simba said, raising his head back toward the fading fluorescent horizon. It never really got pitch black dark in the Pride Lands, no sooner would the sun set, it would rise again.

"Not all the time. Your dad knows that and he's the king." Nala said, reminding Simba of his future role.
"But maybe we can settle for just a few days."

"Yeah!" Simba said excitedly.
The sun set and it started to get noticeably darker, the two parted and headed to the den.

From this day on, the two of them would live the next few days worry free, to see what it would be like.

Day 2

Simba and Nala had gone to the waterhole today, or at least that's what they told their parents, they had taken Zazu along with them to keep watch of the two of them. They deceived him, living up to their promise of living the next few days care free. The ramifications had began to become clear, though. They had narrowly avoided a clash with a pack of hyenas in their mischief.
Mufasa was forced to take action, fearing for his son's life more than his own he overpowered and scared of their pursuers with ease.

Later that night Mufasa and Simba were on Pride Rock watching the sun set, instead of Nala who had been taken back to her mother by Zazu earlier.

"Simba, I am very disappointed in you." Mufasa said, his deep and booming voice echoed slightly in the quiet serenity of the evening. "You could have been killed. And what's worse, you put Nala in danger!"

"But-I-I was just trying to be brave like you..." Simba replied back, mostly out of respect, his voice breaking slightly through sadness and remorse.

"I'm only brave when I have to be." Mufasa said. "And I have those, to help me be brave." Mufasa felt that he had scolded his son enough and it was time to teach him an important lesson about the circle of life.

"What, the stars?" Simba looked up in the sky surrounding the setting sun.

"Yes Simba but look deeper, the great kings of the past look down on us from those stars and guide us. So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those stars will always be there to guide you."

"Does that mean we will be stars one day?" Simba asked.

"But not any day soon." Mufasa replied with a smile.

"Aw come on dad, when will it be my turn?" Simba said, pawing his dad playfully

"Not any day soon." Mufasa teased, tripping his sons paws from under him and Simba fell onto his stomach.

The two of them sat and laughed while they talked for the rest of the sun set.

Day 3

Simba and Nala just decided to abide by their parents today, they took part in hunts and Nala practiced her signature pinning move, she had got to a point where she could easily pin any predator her size if needed.

Just like every day, they played and teased one another once they had finished their chores for the day. And just like every day, the sat on the usual spot of Pride Rock to see the sun set.

"Nala you're pinning move is awesome! Can you show me how to do that?" Simba said, rolling around mimicking it.

"Nah-uh. I don't really know how I do it, I just "do" it" she said.
"Besides it might just save us from something one day. You never know!"

"Hey thinking about the future is a responsibility, you haven't forgotten our promise already have you?" Simba asked his friend.

"Of course I haven't it's just..."

"It's just that I'm more fun than you are." Simba cut her off.

"Oh really? How's this for fun?" She pounced at him

Simba caught her, but Nala rolled while the two of them pawed each other playfully scratching at each other, they rolled forward twice and Nala shifted her weight forward, her front paws pinning Simba down.

"Le'mme up." Simba said, struggling out of her grip.
She let go of him.

"Tomorrow is the last day." he said

"Huh?" Nala said, tilting her head at him. "You're talking weirder than Scar."

"Yeah right, no one talks weirder than Unlce Scar, don't forget to slur and over dramatize every word." He said, deepening his voice to mimic his uncle's and nala giggled at this.

"Remember we said it would only be a few days, so tomorrow is our last day of being care free." Simba said, he clearly didn't want these days to end.

"Right, so what do you want to do for it?" She asked him.

"Well Uncle Scar says he has an awesome surprise for me tomorrow." Said Simba as the two went back to the peak to get a better view. "He said I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, that it was our secret but, well, no worries right?"

"Wow! Sounds fun!" Nala shouted out almost a little too loud.

"Shhh, keep it down, the're only right there..." Simba whispered to her, motioning back to the cove.

"But hey, I can't go with you." She said to him.

"Yeah, it'll look funny if you're there too when you're not supposed to know." he said.

"Exactly. "Genius"" She said to him, referencing a joke that they had the previous day.
"But I'll come down as soon as I can and we'll play there, so you gotta stay down there for a while, okay?"

"Got it." He said to her
"I can't wait."

Day 4

Scars plan had worked perfectly, maliciously he had sent both Simba and Mufasa to their death within the gorge. Though a few implications arose, he had been prepared for them. Should Mufasa make it out alive, for instance, he would send his brother falling back down to his death. Which is what had happened.

And although he had planned for Simba to die as well, he was prepared for even that. He sent Simba off on a guilt trip and had the hyenas chase him and kill him.
The three hyenas he chose were fueled by revenge for what happened two days ago.
Despite this Simba had escaped them, but still he ran as far away from the Pride Lands as his young self could take him, collapsing in a desert far away from home.

When Nala went down the the gorge the cove was empty, it wasn't until she returned home that the heart wrenching truth was known to her. Suddenly she had a lot more responsibilities and a lot more things to care about.

As for Simba, it looked like his care free days were also coming to an end. Or maybe, just maybe, they were only just beginning...

Story 4:

Dreamers: show

Dreamers

“Simba? Simba? Come on, it's time to wake up...”

The young lion grunted in his sleep, rolling over in order to avoid his father's paw, which was now busy prodding him in order to get him up. “..Jus- one more... minute, dad...” he mumbled, feeling that it was way too early for him to get up. Instead, the paw prodded him even harder, and didn't stop until he finally opened his eyes and lifted his head off the ground. “You couldn't even wait for a minute?” he asked, annoyed.

Mufasa grinned at his son. “Absolutely not.” His grin faded then. “Besides, we have to leave now if yo are to make it without being late.”

Simba groaned. “Alright, I'm up.” Today he was leaving his home to spend some time at a neighboring pride. It was one of the first things that he was to do in preparation to becoming king. Mufasa taught him how to run the Pride Lands, but now it was Simba's time to learn how to deal with the neighbors and keep the peace. Which meant paying them a long visit, and this time, on his own.

Still yawning and generally felling quite asleep, Simba followed his father out of the den. “You also need some time to grab some breakfast. Don't want you to have to walk all that distance on an empty stomach.” Mufasa was explaining. “Not to mention I would rather not have you try to hunt on your way there. That will only leave you more hungry. And dirty.”

The prince felt himself at Mufasa's jab at his hunting skills, but didn't reply. The two of them walked in relative silence until they came to the food stash. Simba grabbed some meat and walked off with it, sitting down to eat it slowly. Either because it was starting to spoil, or simply because it was so early and he wasn't awake yet, the meat tasted rather plain and felt rather chewy, almost like grass. Not getting any enjoyment out the meal, he simply ate as quickly as he could, fighting off hit sleepiness, and preparing for what was to come.

As he was eating, a lioness walked over to him. Simba looked up and saw that it was Nala. “Oh, hey,” he muttered, trying not to sound too unenthusiastic.

Nala must have caught on, because she sat down next to him and nudged him playfully. “Aww, come on now. Cheer up, Simba! You'll be gone for what? A week? That's not a lot of time.”

The prince shook his head. “Two.”

His friend didn't even blink. “Still not that long. Besides, you know that Zazu will visit time to time. It's not like you're leaving forever, and we'll be in contact with you.”

Simba simply shook his head, not really listening. “Yeah, yeah...”

Sensing that Simba wasn't up for the mood, Nala stood up. “I'll walk with you to the border then. We can say our goodbyes there.” With that, she left him until he will be ready to leave.

Resuming his meal, Simba paused a bit to stare at the meat, wondering how, even last night, it still felt like this day was still a long way off. He always knew this day would come, and had prepared for it quite a bit with Mufasa, but it was always something that would happen later. Never now, not even soon, always later. And yet now here he was, eating his last meal before he will have to leave his home for the first time. He sighed before grabbing the last piece of meat. He didn't know why, but he was starting to feel gloomy. Hadn't he just corrected Nala on the amount of time he would be gone? It was only two weeks, not including the fact that he will still send messages back and forth using Zazu. So why was he feeling like this was the last day he will see his home and family? Completely lost in his thoughts, Simba didn't notice that he had long stopped eating until once again, Mufasa was right there next to him.

“Time to go, son.”

Simba nodded, standing up. “Alright, dad. I'm... I'm ready.” He didn't know if he sounded convincing enough, but Mufasa didn't say anything, instead motioning for Simba to follow his father down off Pride Rock.

As they walked, both Sarabi and Nala joined them. While Sarabi stayed with Mufasa, Nala took her spot next to Simba. Contrary to his gloominess and silence, Nala seemed to almost bounce with joy and excitement, despite not being the one to actually go on the learning experience.

“Isn't this going to be exciting?” she asked, “you're going to be staying with another pride and learning how to deal with them! It's a very important step before you'll be ready to become king. Can you believe it?”

Simba nodded slightly. “Yeah, I guess.”

Nala chuckled. “It's not the end of the wold, you know. Come on, it'll be fun!” She resumed explaining why Simba should be looking forwards to this, and how great it will be for him and the rest of the pride.

Not only was Simba wondering how she knew so much about what he was about to do, despite not having experienced it, but he simply couldn't find the ability to share her enthusiasm. To him, at the back of his mind, he kept feeling like this was the last time he was going to, for what was feeling like forever, see his home. His family and friends.

But at the same time, didn't Mufasa have to go through the same thing? And his dad didn't look worried. In fact, Mufasa was looking like what Simba was heading towards wasn't any big deal. Sarabi too looked very calm, although Simba swore that she was trying to hide at least some worry behind a mask of some of Nala's excitement. Logically, Simba was telling himself, if Mufasa wasn't worried, then he shouldn't be worried either. For that matter, weren't all kings supposed to have gone through this? They all seem fine, at least from those that Simba had met. Sometimes even lions who were not destined to become kings also participated in these journeys, either to help inter-pride relations or just for their own amusement or curiosity. It was more common for a random lion to have done this than not, so why in the world was Simba feeling so nervous? It's fine! He was no different than other lions. Simba shouldn't have any trouble with this.

Simba's mind wandered to a few months back, when Mufasa and the Pride Landers were the hosts for another neighboring pride's prince, Savoretti, who did exactly the same thing that Simba was beginning now. Sure, Initially Savoretti was nervous too, but very quickly he had warmed up to the pride and had no trouble at all learning from Mufasa and the others about the Pride Lands and the areas around them. Even back then, that prince had never struck Simba as some sort of genius, but just as another lion. So if Savoretti had so little trouble doing this, why did Simba feel like he was about to severely disappoint everyone who knew him? This was nothing. It's going to be nothing. He will go to the pride, learn from them, and return home.

And yet, after all of this, the young lion simply couldn't override his emotions with logic. He knew that he will be fine, and that should something will go wrong, that Mufasa and even the entire pride if needed be will come to his aid. There's a reason why these journeys were so popular: they were as safe as they were beneficial for the participating prides. Despite all that, he still felt like he was walking towards his own execution.

Before Simba realized what was going on, Mufasa and Sarabi stopped. Simba blinked, and realized that they had reached the border of the Pride Lands, and that this was going to be the point where he will leave his family and Nala behind, and resume the journey on his own.

Mufasa turned to his son, his face serious. “Well, this is where we part, Simba.”

“Yeah...”

“Remember what you learned here and use it over there. It shouldn't be too different from what I taught you, and remember that you can always call for me if you will need any help.” Simba nodded. “Try to learn something new there, son. I'd rather not have this opportunity go to waste.” Again, the prince nodded.

Sarabi took this time to remove Mufasa from the limelight and place herself in it. “You take care of yourself, Simba.”

By now, Simba had known that Sarabi was at least somewhat worried, but it was now that he realized that his mother didn't seem quite ready to let him go just yet. “I'll be alright, mom,” he told her, gently nuzzling her in order to provide some comfort. “I'll be fine. I promise.” Simba was forcing himself to sound calm now, so that Sarabi won't be even more worried.

Sarabi pulled back from him slightly. Her eyes were glistening from a combination of pride and sadness. “I know you will, Simba. But should anything go wrong, you know you can always contact us. You don't have to wait for Zazu to arrive to you. If you will have to, you can always use the Evergreen Pride's majordomo.”

“I know, mom.” He looked at his parents and then at Nala. “Right, well, I better get going then,” he said quietly. “I'll see you all soon enough. Just two weeks right? Not that long.” He reached out and hugged his parents, only letting go when he felt them move back. He turned to Nala for the last time. “You also take care of yourself Nala,” he said, cracking a smile, “and don't get yourself into trouble without me. I would also appreciate it if you will learn how to hunt well, because I suspect I will be quite hungry when I get back.”

Nala playfully glared at him. “Oh, you're asking for it now, mister.” She quickly leaned forwards and gave him a slight lick over the muzzle.

Simba grinned slightly after she did that, and turned towards his parents again. “Bye mom, bye dad.” He quickly gave Sarabi another quick hug. “When I'll come back, it'll be like I never left in the first place.”

Mufasa grunted. “Well, I would hope that you will change at least a little bit.”

Simba let out a small laugh. “What? Am I not perfect enough already?” This little bit of joking was helping him quite a lot, and he no longer had to fake his smiles. “Alright everyone, I'll be going now. Goodbye!”

“Bye, Simba!”

The prince gave them all another smile before turning and walking away, crossing the border of the Pride Lands. As he stepped across, he was all too aware that this will be the first time at which he will not return to Pride Rock by nightfall.

As he walked, Simba began to feel more and more of his dread and nervousness return. Even though he was still in sight of the Pride Lands, and most likely his parents, he already felt more alone then ever before in his life. Trying to remain courageous, he kept on walking without looking back. It was only when he reached the top of the last hill which he knew he will be able to see his home that he stopped and looked back.

Either he was looking in the wrong place, or he was at a bad angel, but his parents and Nala were nowhere to be seen. He was on his own.

Simba let out a sigh and looked down at the ground, realizing that he was starting to cry. He quickly rubbed a paw over his muzzle, refusing to allow himself to continue feeling this bad. Wiping his tears away, he turned towards his destination and resumed his walk. He had a job to do now, and for now, it will help him remain distracted by concentration on remembering on where to go.

The miles and hours added up as Simba walked through the savanna. Neither prey nor predators cared to stay in his way, so Simba's trek was quite an uneventful one. As the sun rose closer to the midday high, so did the temperature and dryness of the air. In a few hours, he will have to stop and rest from the burning noon sun that made life in the savanna quite hard and tedious at some points.

Still able to walk, the trek continued, and the time and distance continued to add up. At this point, his destination was now significantly closer than the Pride Lands themselves from which he started in the morning.

Finding a suitable spot to stop, Simba lay down under the shade of a tree, taking a short break from his walk. Looking around, he saw that while he still knew where to go, he was never in this place before. While the scenery was much like that of the Pride Lands, he didn't recognize any of it. Nearby, a herd of gazelle was lazily grazing upon the grass, only to suddenly bolt in every direction when a cheetah broke out of cover and charged at them.

Simba watched in amusement as the young feline clumsily chased the wrong prey, easily being outrun by the strong and nimble gazelle in its prime that it targeted, only to stumble over its own feet, trip, and fall over, coming to a rest after a few rolls on the dusty ground. The gazelle that escaped it simply bounced back to its herd and resumed its grazing, a safe distance away from the young hunter.

The lion, still lying in the shade, laughed a little at the show. How much did the cheetah remind him of his own feeble attempts at hunting. Of all the things he was supposed to do as king, Mufasa had never stressed the importance of knowing how to be a great hunter. There will be time enough for Simba to learn how to hunt enough for him to survive, but he had no reason to become an expert.

The undignified cheetah grumpily got off the ground and walked away, its pride hurt a lot more than its body after the magnificent fail of a hunt that it had performed.

Watching the cheetah walk away, it was at this moment that Simba realized that he no longer felt so bad. Lonely, yes, but much of the nervousness was gone now.

Resuming his walk, it took the rest of the day for Simba to reach his destination. With the sun setting over his shoulders, Simba approached a lion on top of a small hill that he knew was the edje of the pride's territory.

When Simba reached him, the lion nodded. “You're Simba, right? I'm Ndoto. Welcome to the Evergreen Pride.”

Simba looked over the lion. Apart from the fur color, the two of them looked rather similar. “Yeah, that's me. Thank you.”

Ndoto nodded. “For the next two weeks, you will be living with our pride and learning about this area. But I guess you already know all of this. So if you will care to follow me...”

“Yes, of course.” Simba looked back behind him to the setting sun. To the Pride Lands. Two weeks. Just two weeks and he will be home again. He will return and tell everyone how much he learned.

“Simba, you're coming?”

Simba turned back to his host. “Yeah!” He ran a few paces to catch up to Ndoto and fell in line with the lion. He may have felt bad this morning, but now he felt ready. Ready to take the next step in his life.

Story 5:

My One Reflection: show

My One Reflection

Wisdom was never something which came easily. Ironically, that was the most salient lesson he’d learned over the years: that there were always many trials, errors, and bad experiences. He’d been hailed as wise, and yet that very appellation made him laugh inside. Sure, he was better than when he had started off… but he felt he still had so much to learn. He knew the road to knowledge, to righteousness—one he was proud to admit he’d always tried to follow—was rocky and difficult. Mistakes were along the way. Some small and trivial, others heart-wrenchingly devastating. This much he knew, for he’d made his fair share of both of them.

He sighed, and clambered out of his humble den. Despite being king, he slept in the main quarters with the rest of his family. It just didn’t seem right any other way. There was a short walk to the peak of the tall, scoping erratic they used as the base of their homeland. Pride Rock.

Now that he thought of it, he supposed he’d always found the landmark quite strange, and never had he seen anything else like it; though there be many hulking boulders between his kingdom and Kilimanjaro, none of them were stacked so auspiciously, one on top of the other. It was as though the two rocks were frozen into an eternal joining, the superior one lying across its partner so delicately and gracefully. If the lower one were to fall, the whole system would come crumbling down.

The sovereign stood on top of that upper peak now, the one hanging so securely in its balance. There was quite a strong wind up here, as always. The night air had been chilly as he walked, and the remnants of warmth under the crook of his arm, where his wife had nestled her head, were rapidly fading, replaced with the clear, biting cold of the darkened atmosphere. He wondered if she noticed his absence yet… he didn’t want her and the child to feel alone. But he did need to clear his mind, and this seemed like the best place to do it.

His tail twitched in the pitch milieu, hazel eyes gazing out over his kingdom as the condensing fog of his suspirations rhythmically appeared and vanished. Tonight was certainly nippy. It was one of those cold, clear, crystal nights, where everything was shadowed in lurking darkness save for the sky, which, in its clarity, was as visible as a glass orb encompassing the earth. Stars lay, beyond counting, high in their celestial abodes, beyond the reach of any living being.

They illuminated the vast expanses of amber grass, which were occasionally interrupted by small groves of wild acacia trees. In the daytime, these would be host to herds of visiting giraffes. The soil, too, was fertile, and broken with hyaline springs; together the earth and water supported myriad types of animals: every creature in the Pridelands, from the boisterous elephant to the passive passerine, secretly sang the praises of home. And as he was their head—the master, patriarch, and royal keeper of the wild itself—his name was juxtaposed with that of the very kingdom whose grounds they tread upon.

All in all, this was all right, for things were as they should have been. And that was something he knew better than to take for granted, even if this state of perfect happiness only extended outside the confines of Pride Rock.

His head dipped imperceptibly, wispy locks of ruddy hair coasting into his field of view before his eyelids blackened it entirely. Then his nose scrunched, lightly exhaling a steaming stream of vapor as he lay mostly dormant in the tempestuous trap of his thoughts.

They didn’t know it, the birds and the leopards and the antelopes, for they were kept blissfully naïve through it all. But the facts remained. The truth of his life was in full view; the cards he had been dealt lay face-up on the table. For in the end, there was a downhill for every uphill, be that on the flattest plain or across the staggering steppes of the Great Rift; every shot of happiness was weighed down with a sobering dose of sorrow.

One thing he had learned through his years was that life had a delicate balance, a way of straightening itself out. Things were shifted around: creatures died and their matter was scattered in every direction, and this fed the growing grasses. The herds grew and flourished and reproduced before dying and contracting once again. But nothing was ever truly added. Nothing was ever truly taken away.

Yes, the hand he had was different, unique… but there was the same mixture of darkness and light, of energy and substance. The cards were all of one deck, and were thus simply thrown back into the mix to be reshuffled and redistributed in a countless array of combinations. Only luck governed which hand was dealt, and there was no assistance to the individual in how they played it.

In this way, life may have seemed unfair, although truly this was only a reflection of its passivity. It set its rules like a framework and left the creatures it governed locked inside. The only one nature bowed to was time—a mistress as unseeing and as unchanging from her stubborn pace as could be, her immeasurably old and stony face apathetic to her ceaseless ways.
He could never turn back the gentle stream of sand in the endlessly-twirling hourglasses. They would never flow upwards, against the laws of nature—the experience he had was all hard-won, as there were no shortcuts and no ways to know of the future. The gifts of opportunity and chance would never be restored to him.

That was exactly what troubled him. There was no eraser for mistakes written far back in time. Alas, in the kingdom all was pleasant, and as perfect as they could have possibly hoped. But he suffered his own troubles, in accordance to the balance which was always, at long last, found.

For naught troubled him more than the unrest in his innermost sanctum. Because for this king, the greatest struggle came not from his kingdom, but from his own family… and his own self most of all.

His eyes snapped open, little doorways allowing in the light of the stars and the waning, lugubrious moon. It lay like a honey-colored scythe in the far corner of his vision. Inwardly, he sulked and stiffened and anticipation. Air pooled into his lungs, in and then out again, though this did little to calm him—his pupils narrowed accordingly, the reflective glint in them obscured by the billowing fog which swirled in front of his face.

This unrest was like a harbinger, a feeling which had not yet been associated with the present sights and sounds which his corporeal senses could identify. It was something else, something beyond what he could see and feel. He vaguely knew, somewhere in his mind, that soon—he wasn’t sure when, but soon—things were going to go very awry.

He’d been having strange thoughts and feelings over the past few days; his normally tranquil sleep had been disrupted by vicious nightmares. Often times he would have strange visions in midday, when he was out and about in his kingly guise. Once he could have sworn he’d seen the lower portion of Pride Rock, the boulder which supported the peak he was standing on, fall down, the rest of their hub crumbling with it in a momentous shower of dust and thundering rocks… only to wake up and find that he had, in a display very uncharacteristic of him, fallen asleep while patrolling the borders out in the middle of the savanna.

The rocks still stood, as tall and majestic as always. But something was not normal. Something was not right. Whether it was with the land, or simply with himself, he wasn’t certain of—only that affairs would soon take a drastic turn.

He wished he could calm his troubled mind. These nighttime excursions, once rare, had grown in their frequency and in their emotive strength. This normally regal king, confident and charismatic, was suddenly brooding and uncertain. Doubts crept in from various angles—for example, earlier in the day, he’d saved his son from a disastrous encounter in a bad part of the savannah, a place he had told him never to visit.

Now, the optimistic and energetic individual he had once been, and perhaps still was, would have simply chocked it up to a childhood mishap… for he knew firsthand, from his own childhood, that combining a mischievous and adventurous boy with rules never worked very well. Youth were always bound to burst through barriers, to boldly challenge everything they saw and perceived. Yet this was not his train of thought, and in a way, he mourned that. Something in him was worried, and as wrought as a cold, iron fence. There had to have been more to it… the attackers had to have known, they had to have been plotting… right? Wasn’t it normal to be concerned? To doubt? For what if he couldn’t, in spite of his efforts, keep his family safe after all? Or his kingdom?

Oh, he knew there was no reason to look into it so deeply, as he had little evidence of any certain conspiring—the young prince had brashly wandered beyond their lands, and had unfortunately suffered a consequence of that. But his sentiments had, from somewhere deep within, pointed elsewhere.

Alas, it was not fitting to be paranoid; individuals were, as far as he was concerned, innocent until proven guilty… regardless of whomever or wherever they were. He had effectively taken control and solved the issue at hand. There was no rational, logical reason to be frightened.
No, no. Being paranoid, and thus afraid, did not befit a sovereign well at all. Yet he could not prevent that long-suppressed part of his instinct from roiling up like a licking flame when he heard footsteps behind him. Another sign of his imperfection, his growing… unrest…

Traditionally, only sovereigns were allowed up on the peak of Pride Rock, unless explicit permission had been given by the king ordaining otherwise. At this point, it could be one of three individuals, though through the night air he could not see who was lurking in the murky shadows just beyond his field of view.

Tentatively he raised a voice, hoping to see who owned the soft sounds of feet on rock, or the sharp glints of green light bursting out from behind the stone. Somehow he doubted that this was his adventurous and playful son, who, in his innocence, would be coming out at these godforsaken hours simply to enjoy his father’s presence… though it wouldn’t particularly surprise him if that were so, either.

“… Hello…?” His deep voice, even in uncertainty, boomed powerfully and echoed across the top of the expanse. There was a slight rumble in his throat, a sharp and perhaps demanding edge subtly intoned into the syllables. “Who is it?”

The prowler made no further effort to conceal himself, if, indeed, he’d even bothered at all to begin with. His tone was immediately dour and agitated, a spiteful baritone emerging from pursed lips and a grizzled muzzle. There was something tight-fisted in the way he carried himself, something penurious… as though he refused to allow his monarch—his elder brother, in fact—any solace the evening would have had to offer.

It worked, for the troubled being stiffened without knowing why.
The prince removed himself from the shadows completely, but in doing so revealed a sinuous body equally darkened all the way through—inside and out. His orbits were like black pits, as unfeeling as the cold vacuum of space, and his glaring green eyes were not much better when they shone like piercing stars from the depths of their sockets.

“Please, Your Highness, why so demanding? I thought you’d be tired out fighting those mangy, good-for-nothing, spirits-damn hyenas. Thought you’d be eager for your beauty sleep.” He slunk up to him, heavy lids halfway concealing his irritated, vaguely cynical expression. It was clear that, for whatever reason, he hadn’t slept well either; the skin below his eyes was shaded and, like the rest of his somber face, considerably drooping. His ribs protruded visibly from the dark pelt on his sides, making his skeleton seem as that of a ship’s. Like a withered, wind-blown plant, he was gently wasting away in what appeared to be, in the views of the king and his kin, mild passivity.

He was tired, for sure.

Yet there was a tangible bitterness, almost a disappointment, in his irreverent tone that was hard to ignore, and the elder of them didn’t quite know why it was there. Rather, the truth—like the rest of him—was shrouded in a curious enigma, artfully concealed from his view. What did he have to be so upset about? Nobody knew, as it seemed to them that he did nothing much of any degree of importance. When he wasn’t sleeping in a laconic haze or out catching food for himself, his whereabouts and, ultimately, his thoughts and intentions remained unknown.

Not that most of them really cared about his whereabouts: as it was, he was estranged from nearly the whole of their community. He’d parted with his friends long ago, and his greatest mark of shame—his greatest failure—was in the scar, a strip of hairless pink tissue which lay, indented into the surface of his flesh, above his eyebrow, continuing across his cheek so that the deep extension of the wound narrowly missed his eye.

It was visible, even in the midst of the night. The soft, honeyed glow of the moon reflected the concave skin ominously, as a light dash framing his verdure gaze.

“What are you doing?”

The king looked at him in a way that wasn’t quite derisive, but perhaps demanding. He stiffened and straightened up as the smaller sibling drew uncomfortably near.

“Ah, now I believe the roles of interrogator and victim are being played by the wrong persons, wouldn’t you agree? Or should I not be asking you that question?”

The dark eyes of the older brother shifted sheepishly away, an uncharacteristic aversion borne into him at his scathing, caustic tone and his unfriendly presence. But he didn’t want to let him take control of the situation—no, he wouldn’t let him simply have his way to such a degree.

He felt the words hanging off the tip of his tongue, ready to be driven like darts into the still and terse air—‘you shouldn’t be up here’. His lips puckered; he drew in breath. Looking his brother in the eye, he prepared to put his foot down.

But somehow, somewhere along the line, he just couldn’t do it.
He exhaled in something akin to resignation, his soft acquiescence closely paired with the budding memories sprouting in the front of his mind. For in a time long ago, before the eventual death of their parents, the two of them had both wanted to be king. In fact, as far as he knew, his brother still wanted the position very much so, as he had been vying for it against his sibling since he was a tyke.

He stood no fair chance, being as young as he had been. When their father had eventually met his demise, the eldest had been chosen as the most responsible and experienced individual to run the kingdom. The crown prince had inherited the throne, leading him to where he was now.

That was many years ago. But he still remembered the days when the old king, his predecessor, had taken the two of them up there, letting them enjoy the sunbeams and the pleasant view of the kingdom that they, coupled with the extra height and wide open spaces, offered. They were memories from the nostalgic days of a pleasant youth, when brothers were as close as they should have been and the world had not yet grown vast and daunting and complicated... nothing could bring those back now, and there was only so much he could do.

One of those things was a concession allowing his younger brother to take sojourns to the peak when he pleased. At the time it had seemed only fair, in light of how he had enjoyed those trips as a young cub even more than his elders. Often he would run and play around, trying to see all the sights that the rock offered… but more often than not he was trying to beat his brother at something. Could he see those elephants way over there, far in the distance? Was his vision as sharp, as astute? How quickly could he run down the slope, and then ascend back up it again?

These games, albeit being competitive, were little more than childish fare. He’d grown out of it in time, though he still returned to the peak often. The eldest always suspected, though he never asked, that it was solely because it made him feel more kingly. Like he was powerful, important… the view from the top of the rock no longer proffered him a childish sense of awe and wonder, but rather a dangerous lapping of water from a rushing river which, if he chose to dive in and sate his thirst, would only drag him away in the end.

He always wondered at the state of his brother’s mind, and was often concerned over it. But his shrouded eyes offered no view into his soul—his blank and empty pupils only held the reflection of whoever beheld them. He had no insight as to just what desires lay inside his being, and he had only inklings of an idea which stretched farther than he could imagine. What he had thought to be a prolonged dream from youth was really just the tip of a massive, hulking iceberg about to break and wreak havoc.

His emerald eyes held the green flecks of envy in them, and these specks had reached into and mottled his blighted, rotting core. It blended in so well, it matched the color of his irises... just as his deception was hidden by his seemingly submissive nature. The chameleon blended in with its foliage, and the older brother was the fly caught unaware by its movement in the bushes.

And yet here the younger brother was, standing uneventfully on the royal peak as though he’d always been meant for it.

“You never answered my question,” the king pondered solemnly. “Why are you here?”

His question was offered in genuine curiosity. What reason had he to move from the comforts of his den into the cold night? Surely he didn’t mean to simply take a walk? Alas, he’d assumed that, like himself, he was perhaps troubled by something and roused from his sleep… but if that was the case, then what was keeping him awake? What did he have to be worried about?

The older studied him closely, hoping to glean a hint from his taut expression… but there was nothing aside from a cloyingly sweet and yet insincere simper which had spread across his maw, showing his teeth from under his dry lips.

“I’m on the peak. What else is there?” There was an arrogant tone in his voice that almost dared a contradiction. It was as though he were proud of this position, high above any of the others living at Pride Rock. He laughed, though it was more like a crackling wheeze that was emitted, hoarse and constrained, from his constricted throat. “And what of you? Are you… afraid of something?”

He paused, that unsettling grin still kept on his face, teeth displayed and glimmering with wetness in the night. Something about him seemed off… different… as though he were hinting at something. Alas, the king was used to his malice, his forked tongue and his oily voice… but there was a twinge of hidden amusement which glimmered in his eye. He was laughing to himself, vaguely, under his breath. And he hadn’t yet called him ‘brother’.

“Afraid you’d lose your son today?”

“Yes,” he responded flatly, as though the answer should have been obvious, “… of course I was. And what do you know of all this, anyway? It just happened a few hours—”

“—Honestly, it shocks me how little you and your precious little group believe in me… You don’t think I was concerned for the well-being of my favorite nephew?” Then, more as an aside, “… and I thought I was the cynic of us.”

“Brother, because he’s your only nephew. Whatever happened to him being a hairball?”

“Hm-hm-hm…” he chuckled, a seemingly amused expression playing across his lips. The slight crook towards the edges gave the impression that he was smiling as he paced around his ruler. “You aren’t still bitter over that, are you? And whatever happened to calling me your brother, hmm? Enlighten me.”

The tendrils of a growl formed in the elder’s throat. Yes, he was still bitter about that blatant disrespect. The dark one was the son of royalty, but he was not the sovereign in these parts. He had been expected to appear at the new heir’s public presentation to the world… but he was conspicuously absent.

Oh, the queen had been livid.

He’d been sent, of course, to remedy the situation—as though he were his brother’s keeper. But at this point, however, he doubted there was much he could do. His younger sibling would not take his advice. He would not heed his warnings. And he most certainly would not change his position on the subject.

He couldn’t believe the gall he had had; first it was to insult the newborn prince, and next nothing short of an overt condescension. Of course he’d been angry over it… he had every right to be.

But as far as what he mentioned… well, that much could not be denied. He was right. It was in an odd, twisted way… but he was right nonetheless.

“Please… let it go. I was angry at you. What you did was wrong.”

“And what was it I did? Explain this to me… so the jury can hear you.”

He nodded up towards the milky stars above, the resting place of their ancestors, the great spirits, and their deity, who had created the great earth they lived in. There was a clairvoyance inside them which kept its watchful eye on every living creature, that knew and saw, in their omnipotence, the truth of things. He sighed, and his brother continued.

“Everyone seems to think that I’m some kind of monster, because of one mistake I made. Do you remember?”

There was a long, terse pause in the air. None deigned to interrupt it until several moments had passed, hoping that waiting would ease the discomfort of the situation. But there was no remedy. And he knew there would be none other than confronting the situation directly.

‘You are no brother of mine’—oh yes, he remembered saying those wretched words. The younger sibling had never forgiven him. It was the same night he had received the scar across his eye… and always, to this day, they blamed each other, one to the other. There was no clear culpability, no place to lay the censure. In the eyes of their peers, however, the estranged prince had drawn the short stick.

It never stopped. From there their relationship degraded like a falling rock. A millstone tied around the neck of any cordiality they had had. And all the while the dark one was still staring him in the eye, demanding.

“Yes. I do.” He cleared his throat. “But tell me… why… why couldn’t we have forgotten it? Why do you hold on to the mistakes of long ago?”

“Hmptt,” the younger sibling rebutted. This was where they always differed, for one lay in hope and optimism and light, and the other wallowed in despair and darkness and pessimism. “Always the idealistic one of us, weren’t you?”

“Please,” the elder pled, extending his hand with a desperate expression. "Forgive me, brother. For our future.”

His lips twisted into a wrought countenance, and a glimmer of hurt was apparent in his eyes. “No. No, don’t think I’ll simply forget the ways in which you’ve wronged me, big brother.” The acerbity in his tone added to his cold, spiteful look. But this could only last so long. After mere moments his voice had faded to a whisper, and the pain in his voice was more apparent than anything he’d heard from him in a long time. “And don’t think I’ll let you do that to me again.”

The king withdrew his paw, face tightening into a firm, almost severe expression. He’d given it his best shot—there was nothing he could do, no way to undo the mistakes of the past. Now he would, as he had done before, simply have to deal with the consequences. Time healed all wounds, and nature had a balance... it would wrap itself up eventually. He would be prepared, come what may.

Alas, he knew that his father, his mother, and all the others were up there watching them both… and many times, fervently, he had sought their protection, in case his unrest was a signal from their very souls. He hadn’t heard an answer, but then, such answers were truly rare. There was a planet full of suffering, entreating animals to keep track of, and then—in the end—what he sought so much to avoid may have just been meant to be. For his fate lay in the cards he had been dealt, and sometimes there was nothing to do but fold, lest he lose disastrously.

It was these beings who created time herself, and Mother Nature, and Lady Luck, and all the other things that simple-minded mortals believed in. They were elevated, living in a world all their own. One which he might enter one day, were he worthy of the honor.

In short, they were the reason life was the way it was.

Alas, things would sort themselves out in the end. Mistakes were made, and lives were lost. The mistakes made would end them all someday… for after all, the biggest challenge he had to face was not one of running the kingdom, or trying to ensure prosperity in the land. No. Rather, it was his own nature—which reflected every being’s tendency to sin and make mistakes—and the relationships with the ones that mattered most to him.

He could try his best to lead a perfect life, but he was not as perfect as he wished he could be. Someday, eventually, he would fail. And fall he would.

Story 6:

A Surprising Gift: show

A Surprising Gift

Scar was lying down in his den, feeling sorry for himself, as per usual. Sighing to himself, he thought about what life would be like if he were king. That would be hard to accomplish now though, seeing as Mufasa had just announced to Scar that he has a son.
Scar is now second in line to be king. Maybe I should do something about it?

“Scar! Scar? Where are you? We need to talk!”

Jerking his head up, Scar looked out of his den, towards where the call had come from. The voice sounded strangely familiar to him. He had heard it before, but where?
Standing up, he walked over to his den entrance. He looked around a little, and then spotted a lioness off in the distance, emerging from behind some scrub.
If Scar was not mistaken, it was Sarafina. And even though Scar’s eyesight was not that good, she seemed… Larger than what he remembered.

Making her way slowly over to Scar, Sarabi was thinking to herself.
I wonder how he’ll react. I hope he does not take it too bad.

As Sarafina walked through the trees, and got closer to Scar, he noticed her stomach looked like it was about to burst. Scar knew she was not a food lover, so he assumed she was full of cubs.

“Sarafina, what… What are you doing here?”

Sarafina slowly approached Scar, and looked down at the dirt covered rocks below her paws, clearly lacking confidence.

“Scar, I’m… You have…”

Scar had completely forgotten until now. Completely forgotten about that night where he confessed his feelings for Sarafina. The night where they celebrated their love for one another.

“Yes? What is it?”

Sarafina got a burst of confidence, and looked up at Scar, into his eyes.

“Scar, I’m about to have cubs. Your cubs. Our cubs.”

Scar was not as surprised as one would be when you find out you’re about to be a father, but he was still surprised nonetheless.

“Well then.” Scar replied, with a small hint of joy in his voice, “When do you expect to give birth?”
“Well, I-“
“Oh how rude of me.” Scar moved off to the side, out of Sarafina’s path, “Please, come in. Sit down, relax. You must feel very tired.”

Sarafina moved into Scar’s den, and stood around near the center, looking around a little nervously.

“Please, lie down over there. I assure you I will not pull anything on you. You can trust me.”

Slowly, Sarafina went and rested on the raised rocky area where Scar normally slept.

“So, as I was saying, when do you expect to give birth?”

Sarafina sat there for a short while, with her head resting on her front paws. She looked a little sad for some reason.

“They should be coming sometime this week.”
“Splendid.”

Scar turned and was about to go bask in the sunshine just outside of his den when he noticed that Sarafina was looking a little sad.

“Sarafina, what is wrong? You look sad, allow me to help.”
“Well…”

Sarafina lifted her head off of her paws.

“It’s just… No one knows.”

Scar was confused.

“Knows what?”
“Knows that you’re the father.”
“Is that all? Well, if that’s it, then I don’t see a problem. You could always say that some lion-“
“And you never visited.”

Scar stopped talking. He had no excuse; he had plenty of time to visit. He neglected Sarafina, but he still loved her.

“Sarafina, you must understand. If I were to regularly visit you, and the other lionesses had noticed that you had grown, they would start connecting the dots. They would have soon figured out, and we can’t let anyone know that I am the father. It would be the death of us both.”
“Yes, I understand that. But every time you say me, you pretended nothing was happening; like that night never happened.”

Scar had no excuse.

“Trust me when I say this, I was thinking of you. And I’m here now, at the time you need me most. I sincerely apologise for not being there; I am truly sorry.”

Sarafina looked a little happier.

“Thank you, Scar.”
“You’re welcome. You may stay here as long as you like.”

Sarafina laid her head on her paws again, and Scar sat next to her.

“What would you like to talk about? Any gossip from the waterhole?”
“Well, I hear that-“

Midway through her sentence, Sarafina made a funny noise.

“Scar, I… I…”
“You mean..?”

Sarafina nodded.
“I can’t say I was expecting them to come so soon.”

Scar moved closer towards Sarafina.

“I’m here for you.”

***

Scar was woken by a mew that came from a small, newly born cub lying next to Sarafina. Scar stretched and yawned, then looked over to where Sarafina lay. She was awake, having been up most of the night, making sure the cubs were alright.

When she turned to look at Scar, she had the faintest trace of tears.
It was only then that Scar really opened his eyes and saw what was in front of him.

“No…”
“I’m sorry Scar.”

Scar was not successful in crying. The tears would not come for him.

“How can he have…?”

Sarafina looked at Scar.

“He just did not make it. He was so small; I feared he would not survive when I first laid my eyes on him.”

Scar’s son; his one and only heir, had died. He had not survived his first night. Scar’s other cub; the female, had lived though. She was strong, healthy, looked as though she would one day be a strong leader.
Scar went over to Sarafina and gave nuzzled her.

“It’s okay; we both knew he would not make it. He will live on in our minds forever.”

Sarafina broke down and started crying, and all Scar could do was comfort her.
Half an hour later, when Sarafina had recovered and the sole surviving cub had been fed, Scar started to think about what to do next.
Should he tell someone? Should he keep this a secret? What should he do?
Scar sat down on the dust ground next to Sarafina, and looked her in the eyes.

“Sarafina, we need to talk.”

Sarafina took her eyes off of her cub and looked back up at Scar.

“About what?”

Scar sighed.

“We need to decide on a few things. The decisions will be hard, but they will be the best for all of us.”
“Well then, what must we discuss?”
“A few things.”

Sarafina nodded. “Go on.”

“Well…” Scar looked up at the roof of his den, stuck in deep thought. He slowly replied after a few minutes of thinking. “We have to decide on whether to tell anyone who the father is.”

Picking up the pace of his voice, Scar continued to talk.

“The whole pride knows you were pregnant, but we need to decide on whether to confess that I’m the father or not.”
“Yes, I understand. Well… If we told everyone, you’d be exiled for sure. We can’t take that chance. We can’t take any chances.”
“It will be our little secret then?”
“Yes.”
Nodding, Scar replied. “Right.”
“And the other things?”
“We have to decide on whether to keep this a secret from our cub; keep the identity of her father from her. She may keep wondering, but as much as it saddens me to say this, she cannot know that I am the father.”

After a little thought, Sarafina gave her verdict.

“I agree. We must take no chances, as I said earlier. Mufasa would surely exile us if he found out about this going on without his royal highness knowing.”
“Well, that is all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”

Falling silent, the two lie close to each other for a while, enjoying each other’s company until Sarafina spoke up.

“Scar.”
“Yes?”
“I should go back to Pride Rock. The pride is most likely wondering where I am.”

Scar sat up, saddened. He was enjoying this time with Sarafina and his cub, but deep down he knew it would have had to end sometime.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Scar stood up, and turned away Sarafina, looking out of his den, and towards Pride Rock.

“And Scar, can you promise me one thing?”

Scar looked over his shoulder at Sarafina.

“Yes?”
“Promise me you’ll visit. At least once a week. It will be risky, but I really need you here by my side.”

Scar felt a pang of guilt. He knew he would be unable to do this, but to make Sarafina feel happy, he lied.

“Yes. I promise.”

Sarafina stood up, nodded, and grabbed her cub by scruff of her neck.
Sarafina stood at the entrance to Scar’s den, and mumbled out something that vaguely sounded like ‘I’d better go’.
Placing her cub back on the ground, beneath her front legs, Sarafina turned and looked at Scar one last time.

“Thank you Scar, I really do love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And Scar?”
“Yes?”
“What is her name?”
“Her name?” Scar racked his brains for a fitting name. “Her name is Nala. It’s fitting.”
“Nala? The name meaning gift? Yes, yes it is quite fitting. Well Scar, this is goodbye, for now.”
“I guess so.”

Leaning in towards each other, Sarafina and Scar had one last nuzzle before Sarafina picked up Nala and started heading towards Pride Rock.
Taking one last look at his daughter, Scar could not help but feel guilty, as he would never be able to take care of his loved ones due to his brother. Watching Sarafina disappear behind some trees, Scar became sad and went back into his den.

For the first time since he was a cub, Scar cried.

Story 7:

The Path to Armageddon: show

The Path to Armageddon

Fields of golden savannah glistened across the rolling plains of the Pridelands, waving back and fourth in the wind with tranquilizing, mesmeric motions. Although the grasses were mostly a golden yellow, shadowed only with the occasional acacia tree across the horizon, several patches of land also carried slight tints of green.

Fortunately for the Pridelanders, the rainy season was beginning to mark its annual return, with the first downpour in months approaching nearer by the day. The increasing levels of moisture and falling temperatures did not come without relief, for it had been a long and hot summer.

Yet, even considering the circumstances, the drought was hardly severe enough to starve the land of its natural resources. Like every previous year, the monsoons came, and life continued to flourish under king Ahadi's reign—bright, vibrant, and everlasting. The circle of life never ceased; it rolled on without fault, more flamboyantly than ever before.

For many months, not a single problem had risen to obstruct the peace, created and maintained only by the unbreakable bonds within the pride. It was merely a comforting shadow of peace which fell behind the towering throne of Pride Rock, shielding the Pridelanders from the intense rays of afternoon sunlight. There were no threats, no dangers; every day, only the calm emptiness of nature itself visited the pride.

After all, the debacle with the hyenas had waned off entirely, out of sight and out of mind from any lion within the pride. Meanwhile, the many herds were beginning to make their return to the Pridelands, following the lush grasses and plentiful waterholes, which were scheduled to make their return within a matter of days.

Yet, more importantly, the rising success of the kingdom was actually due, in no small part, to another lion—the king's son, Mufasa. Once the older cub of a liter of two, Mufasa was everything Ahadi expected to see in a heir.

Ahadi's oldest son was ripe with the signature brute, leonine strength of a great king like his father, but employed the passion and enthusiasm of a true leader. Mufasa consistently carried out his duties to the best of his ability, looking after the safety and security of his pride, first and foremost.

Day in and day out, the lion managed to exceed and surpass his father's expectations with his competence and robust proficiency, almost begging to be shouldered with greater and greater responsibilities every week. And so he was given greater responsibilities, eventually becoming his father's counterpart, as well as assistant.

Although Mufasa was still merely a young adult, at best, he had quickly gathered the respect of the majority of his pride. His accomplishments were garnished, and his traits were celebrated in light of his bright, glorious future as the chosen heir. Within his pride, Mufasa had quickly become the king's equal, and it was not without reason.

But occasionally, the lion only glared across the horizon, allowing himself to escape from it all. Being the king's oldest son was a stressful job, no doubt, even during times of peace. One morning—this morning—was one of those times.

As Mufasa's eyes met the tranquil morning landscape, his mind briefly fell into a state of ease. For a single moment, all his worries withered away and died off into the winds, while the intense mid-morning sun cast its energizing rays of warmth across the landscape.

The bright dawn was shielded only by the occasional cloud in the sky. It was the perfect time of year, those few days between the scorching heat of summer, and the muggy, wet days of afternoon thunderstorms. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful, to an odd extent.

Every few seconds, the winds picked up and died down, sweeping across the savannah with predictable, rhythmic patterns. It captivated prince Mufasa, allowing his mind to wander and rest for seconds at a time.

His dreamy rest, however, was shortly interrupted by the call of his father, who stood in front of his son, staring him in the face. "Mufasa!" Ahadi tilted his head. "Are you listening to me?"

Mufasa immediately reemerged into a state of consciousness, becoming fully aware of his surroundings in under a split second. With a twitch of his neck and paw, his body aligned itself, and his eyes quickly met those of his father, once again. "Uh... yeah," Mufasa quickly replied, with a voice that was ironically far deeper than his father's. "I am... now."

Ahadi never sighed. The oldest of the two lions merely gazed upon his son with an expression of concern, almost as if he had just begun to have second thoughts. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked.

"Ready for what, Dad?" Mufasa asked. "Sorry, I... I was just..."

"You look worried," Ahadi commented, trying not to worry himself over the whole ordeal. "You know I wouldn't be putting you in this position, if I didn't think you're ready."

"Wait... what?" Mufasa interjected quietly, suddenly finding himself feeling completely baffled by the entire situation. "What's going on?"

"You're in charge today," Ahadi explained for the second time. "Uru and I are going to take a little vacation away from the Pridelands for the night, now that you're old enough to manage the kingdom on your own. We'll be back tomorrow afternoon."

The younger lion's jaw slipped open. "You mean... I'm the king, now?"

"You are today," Ahadi nodded. He paused for a moment, watching Mufasa's reaction while a smirk grew across his face.

"You know," the lion king continued, "if you had been paying attention, you would have heard me the first time!" he teased his son playfully. "Hah, you're just like me, when I was your age... with all the times I never listened to Mohatu!"

"Oh..." Mufasa mumbled, his voice nearly shaking the entire landscape like a quiet growl. "I can do this," the lion continued. "I've been waiting for this. It'll be fine; you can count on me."

Although Ahadi did seem to agree, and he certainly was confident in his son's abilities, the older lion also appeared to be a bit hesitant. "We'll see," he replied, with an odd ring in his voice that eventually faded off into the wind. "Good luck."

With those final words, the old king left the scene to go find Uru before he left the Pridelands for the day, thus marking Mufasa's very first sunrise as king.

Mufasa, however, continued to sit still for a moment, contemplating how he would go about his morning routine. Quickly, he decided to go about his business as usual, no exceptions involved. It would be simple enough, he figured, considering the lack of any sort of recent developments engulfing the pride's concerns.

There was hardly any cause of trouble to be seen, and nothing was really all that different from the typical morning. It was a huge responsibility for Mufasa, but he could handle it. He would not be doing anything that he had not done before.

And so the acting king set off on his morning patrol, in the same manner that he normally would have. It was a nice, pleasant experience, no less of a routine to him than breathing or drinking water. Simple, predictable, and with an odd quality of mundane excitement, it was everything Mufasa expected his first morning to be.

The lion set out on his usual path, never even daring to stray from the ordinary. He left Pride Rock behind him, quickly closing the distance to the edge of the border within a matter of minutes. Along the way, the ground grew rockier, and the tress began to fall sparse.

Mufasa walked parallel to the winding Zuberi river, occasionally glancing over at the many giraffes, hippos, and crocodiles going about their business, as usual. The bright yellow sunlight reflected across the surface of the water, creating almost a tranquil mirror of reflection, off in the distance.

So far, everything was going exactly as planned, if not even more effortless than the usual routine. The lion's brisk steps across the landscape only added to his determination, allowing his confidence to swell with each passing second, as the refreshing morning air filled his breath.

Oddly enough, in a single moment, that all changed.

"Hey there!" The pleasant voice of a certain, recognizable lioness suddenly caught Mufasa off guard.

Stopping in his tracks and turning his head around, Mufasa immediately found his love interest's best friend, Sarafina. "Hey," the golden lion greeted his friend casually, trying to hide his emotion of surprise.

Somehow, she seemed to appear out of nowhere, like a spawn of the grass itself. More than likely, Mufasa had been too focused on his own duties to recognize the sounds and scent of a friendly lioness.

"I'm sorry," the male lion apologized, as soon as he regained the bearings of his internal composure from the sudden surge of shock. "I can't talk today. I have to..."

"I know," Sarafina replied. "Uru told us. You're the king, now!"

"No, I'm not," Mufasa insisted. "It's just for today..."

"So?" Sarafina asked with a suggestive and devious grin. "You're still the king."

"I'm not going to do you any favors," the acting king replied. He thought himself clever, being able to read the adolescent lioness's mind as well as he could. "I'm just going to run through the usual patrols, and then I'll—"

"You can take a day off," Sarafina tried to persuade the new king, immediately interrupting him. "You worry too much. It's not so bad if you skip a day..."

Mufasa immediately shook his head in disagreement. "No... I'm the king," he said with almost an admonishing tone. "It's my responsibility to make sure that the borders are safe, every morning and every night."

"Scar said he would do it," Sarafina explained. "C'mon," she added persuasively, "we could go down to the waterhole, and climb some trees... Sarabi will be there!"

Upon hearing his brother's name, Mufasa's pleasant expression only faded into a scowl. "I don't want to hear about Scar," he replied. "Scar doesn't know how to patrol. He won't do a good job."

Upon realizing how stubborn the lion was going to be, Sarafina released a sigh from her breath. Immediately afterward, she stepped closer to the lion king, trying to persuade him with her relaxed and comforting appearance. "He can do it," explained the lioness. "Just give him a chance!"

"No, he can't," Mufasa snorted, turning away from the lioness in an act of defiance. "Ahadi made me the king today, and he did so for a reason."

Sarafina shook her head, finally giving up. It was no use. She couldn't argue with a lion like Mufasa, that was for sure.

"I'm sure he could do it," she whispered sadly, once Mufasa was outside of earshot.

After that moment, the situation only seemed to worsen for the acting king. What was once a perfect day had immediately turned into something much less. It was almost as if he had failed, in a way, even though he had done the right thing.

How he had failed, Mufasa wasn't entirely sure of. It was little more than an odd feeling, persisting only in the very back of the lion's mind. As a matter of fact, it was hardly even a feeling, but instead, much more akin to a smell.

A certain scent did indeed linger in the air, across the edge of the borders. With each passing moment, the raunchy odor only grew in strength, burying itself inside the lion's nostrils and slapping his olfactory receptors upside the head.

Not after long, the scent festered into something that was utterly putrid, rotting from the inside out like the smell of death itself.

Eventually, Mufasa ceased his walking. He simply could not tolerate it any longer. Something was strange, and he had to deal with it. As the king, he would deal with it, he assured himself.

Normally, there was nothing to be seen across the borders of the Pridelands. It was only on a few rare occasions when anything out of the ordinary happened to show up. During those instances, Ahadi was always there to deal with the threats.

This time, however, Ahadi was long gone. Mufasa was on his own.

The lion's heart rate began to accelerate, while he walked ever closer to the border of the Pridelands. He could nearly feel the sweat dripping from his mane, as thoughts of worry began to fill his mind.

The scent, while disgusting, wasn't exactly similar to that of a hyena. In fact, it was almost like the scent of another lion. A dirty lion, who had not bathed in years. On second thought, considering the strength of the odor, perhaps the lion in question had not even bathed in decades.

Could it have been a rogue? Mufasa only fell into a state of wonder, although his curiosity quickly led to fear. If it was a rogue, could he deal with an intruder? Would he be able to fight another lion off by himself?

Mufasa was a capable fighter in his own right, but he was still young, and he still lacked the experience that a rogue lion would inevitably have acquired from surviving out in the wild.

To the lion king's pleasant surprise, however, he did not find any sign of another creature. Even the sky above was lifeless, without even a single bird to fill the vast expanse of blue.

In addition, the lion could not hear any sound of a threat, either. As much as Mufasa initially would have denied it, the entire situation almost seemed to be nothing more than his imagination playing tricks on him.

"There's nothing out here," Mufasa sighed to himself. "I'll just finish up this patrol, and then I can ask Ahadi about it tomorrow, when he gets back. No problem."

And with that, the lion returned his sights to the path ahead, trying to focus his mind on completing his job before the afternoon's onset of pant-inducing heatwaves.

Yet, as the lion turned around to return to his usual patrol route, he did seem to find something unusual. Not only did he smell a lion with poor bathing habits, but something stood out visually, in the distance.

It was the very something he expected to find. Not to Mufasa's surprise, what he saw was a small group of figures on the horizon, not at all unlike a group of lions. In fact, more than likely, it probably was a small group of rogues, after all.

Curious, Mufasa only stepped closer, drawing himself in to get a better look. As the distance between the new king and the sight diminished, he found what certainly was a group of trespassers, without any questionable doubt.

There were foreign lions in the Pridelands. They were rogue males—three to be exact. No more, no less. Each appeared to be as rough and rugged as a carcass itself, with sharp and harsh outlines defining the features of their bodies. Their pelts were darker than any Pridelander, and their manes were more magnificent than any lion king's.

They weren't friendly lions, that was for sure. Mufasa would have recognized them. They had to have been trespassers, and they had to go.

Carefully, the new king backed away, inch by inch. It was too dangerous for him to linger around in the open, and he knew it. He increased the distance between himself and the other lions, slowly but surely until he was out of sprinting reach.

Although he wanted to, he couldn't approach them. Not in his current state, he reasoned.

Yet, regardless, Mufasa still had quite a big problem on the tip of his paws, and he knew it. He could only start to wonder how he would deal with the situation, if he could deal with it, to begin with.

Obviously, he had to keep the rogues away from Pride Rock. That much was hardly a matter of debate. Instead, the greater question remained: how would he manage to do just that?

Mufasa looked down at his paws for a moment, watching as he scraped his claws through a patch of clay on the ground. He sighed, releasing his frustrations with a deep exhale of his breath, while he slowly came to terms with the futility of the situation.

He had no idea how he would do it.

Hesitantly, Mufasa glanced back over at the group of males. His only hope was that they would run off and disappear on their own, but it never happened. They were still there, and by the look of it, they appeared to have no intention of leaving whatsoever.

And so Mufasa did the only thing he could think to do; he ran away. Silently and stealthily, the lion sped up his walk, quickly returning to the cozier turf at the center of the Pridelands, where he would seek the advice of his pride.

It was only his first day of being the king, and already, he could hardly shake the idea of being a failure.

As the mountainous throne of Pride Rock approached nearer on the horizon, the sign brought Mufasa not a hint of comfort. Not even the slightest trace of optimism could be found within the lion's own internal thoughts, while he prepared himself to return to his pride and alert them of the danger.

And the threat of danger was immense.

The lion repeated his thoughts to himself. The afternoon was ripe with danger, in every possible sense of the word. Mufasa could not deal with the intruders on his own, but as king, that was precisely what he needed to do. The entire situation was a complete disaster, just waiting to explode before the pride.

Slowly, Mufasa walked up to the base of Pride Rock's monumental structure, falling under the promontory's deep shadow. To his surprise, what he found under the shade was not just a rocky pillar, but lion as well.

"...Scar?" Mufasa asked slowly, immediately stopping in his tracks.

Scar lifted his head up off his paws, obviously bothered by the interruption to his rest. "Oh, what is it this time?" He mumbled his question sarcastically, as if he was actually trying his best to care.

"There are three rogues in the Pridelands," Mufasa informed his brother, trying to keep his voice as firm as he could.

Almost immediately, Scar set his head back down on the grass. "I see," he retorted lackadaisically, only exemplifying the extent of his laziness.

"Well," the black-maned lion continued, "I suppose I would deal with the threat myself... but I'm not the king, now am I?" he asked rhetorically, raising his whiskers into a wicked grin.

"Scar!" Mufasa growled impatiently, throwing his voice into his brother's ears.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no!" Scar almost let loose a devious laugh. "This is your problem!"

"No... it's not! This is your pride too!" Mufasa insisted. "If you don't—"

"Oh, really?" Scar interrupted. "It's not my responsibility. Dealing with the rogues is something you have to do yourself."

"SCAR!" the king yelled, allowing his booming voice to shake the ground below his paws. "I am the king, and it is your responsibility to do as I say. You will help me!"

Scar leaned backward, finally gathering his weight up onto his paws. "Ooooh, is that so?" the lion asked deceptively. "Why, I don't think you understand," Scar retorted. "Let the cubs die. See if I care what happens if rogues take over the pride..."

"Fine," Mufasa replied, clenching his teeth while he approached his brother with bared claws. "I'll deal with them myself. But if I can't drive them off..." Mufasa began to turn his head away in disgust, "you're going to be a sorry king with that attitude."

"I'd be a better king than you," Scar spat behind his brother. He watched Mufasa walk away with a distinct sense of satisfaction, feeling rather pleased with any possible outcome of the situation.

Mufasa's golden coat of fur began to illuminate in the sunlight once again, while he quickly returned to the spot where he saw the group of lions.

This time, he decided, he would approach them for sure. He would need to approach them; that was the only way. Perhaps they would not be scared away by the lion alone, but if they knew they were in Ahadi's territory, Mufasa had a chance of chasing them away without a fight.

Eventually, Mufasa caught sight of the three rogues for the second time. He approached their position carefully but intently, emphasizing the brute form of his muscles as he walked. His mane swelled, and his claws emerged slightly from their sheaths.

If troubles were to arise, Mufasa was ready to fight.

Unfortunately, as the three rogues drew nearer, that appeared to be the only option. Each of the three foreigners drew out their claws and exposed the many blades of teeth underneath their lips, poised to strike.

No sign of aggression could have been more obvious. Mufasa wanted to step back and take a breather, but the three intruders approached him without words.

There was no need for diplomacy. Mufasa knew what was going to happen, and it wasn't going to be pretty. Not for them, and certainly not for him, either.

And it wasn't pretty. Within seconds, the first strike had been delivered, and Mufasa quickly found himself lying on the ground. He was not prepared to face three lions, nor could he have fought them off.

The new king fell before his opponents like a thin tree branch, cracking and bending backward under the pressure of his adversaries. The lion's heart rate beat several times a second, but his breathing suddenly ceased.

Immediately, his focus shifted upward, meeting the eyes of the smelly lion who had pinned him. "What do you think you're doing, kid?" the attacker asked, almost confused by Mufasa's foolishly brave stance.

"This..." Mufasa tried to explain, but could barely breathe with the larger lion atop him. "This... is... the... Pride... lands!"

Yet, while various thoughts of despair began to run through Mufasa's head, he suddenly found his relief. Almost immediately, the unrecognizable lion stepped off, allowing Mufasa to run free.

At that instant, all of Mufasa's energy went to his lungs, while he tried his best to breathe normally. It was a task of nearly monumental proportions, at first, but it eventually became far easier as the seconds passed.

Looking up, Mufasa gazed at his attackers with only an expression of bewilderment, twitching his whiskers as the winds blew across his fur, lying on his back.

After a few seconds, however, Mufasa realized something of an entirely different nature. There weren't just three rogues—there were actually four lions. They surrounded Mufasa, looking down on him with contempt.

Standing among the three rogues was Ahadi, the very lion king himself.

"What?" Mufasa asked immediately, waiting for the figure of his father to come into focus. "What's going on? Why aren't you..."

"I was here all along," Ahadi explained, allowing Mufasa time to get back up before he continued. "These are my cousins. You've never met them before, and I told you I was leaving because I wanted to see how you would react."

Mufasa looked down, beginning to show a blush of embarrassment on the side of his cheeks. "Oh... you... you tricked me."

"Where is Scar?" Ahadi inquired immediately.

"He... isn't coming. He wouldn't..."

"I put you in charge, because I thought you would know what to do in a situation like this," Ahadi explained with a scowl. "But if you two can't learn to work together... one day, it will be the death of you."

"I know..." Mufasa conceded, trying to hide his melancholic tone. "I tried."

"I hope you realize what would have happened here," Ahadi insisted persuasively. "You can't fight an entire group of lions all by yourself."

"But... I..." Mufasa tried to explain himself, but to no avail.

"You're not ready for this sort of responsibility," king Ahadi concluded. "Not yet."

Mufasa closed his eyes, lowering his head down to the ground. "I'm sorry..."

[/quote]

Voting will end on Sunday, September 29th. Remember: because there are seven stories, and you might feel like more than one deserves a win, I am allowing two votes per member.

Voting rules are the usual: Don't vote for yourself, and don't vote for a story that you simply know was written by a friend. Don't ask others to vote for your story either. Read each one carefully and give all the stories the same consideration before you make your decision.

Have a great time reading the stories and go vote!

[Ninaroja]

Good luck, everyone! Man, it's gonna take a while to read all these and decide

Though, I guess I don't have to read my own entry I did write it after all

[Gemini]

7 stories? Daaaaaaaang.

[DGFone]

[quote="GeminiGemelo"]7 stories? Daaaaaaaang. [/quote]
My thoughts exactly!

[Gemini]

[quote="DGFone"][quote="GeminiGemelo"]7 stories? Daaaaaaaang. [/quote]
My thoughts exactly! [/quote]
Well, I can't say I'm all surprised. I mean, the contest topic got like... what, 50 posts on it?

[TheBlackCatCrossing]

Daaaaaaaaaaaaaamn!!!!

[DGFone]

[quote="GeminiGemelo"]
Well, I can't say I'm all surprised. I mean, the contest topic got like... what, 50 posts on it? [/quote]

Yeah, but weren't 45 of those about people discussing the AP tests, and another 4 of them me saying how much time left there is to write?

[Gemini]

[quote="DGFone"][quote="GeminiGemelo"]
Well, I can't say I'm all surprised. I mean, the contest topic got like... what, 50 posts on it? [/quote]

Yeah, but weren't 45 of those about people discussing the AP tests, and another 4 of them me saying how much time left there is to write? [/quote]

Hey, publicity is publicity. Although when you put it like that...

[DGFone]

^ Since it was mostly other people posting... free publicity!

And thanks for this free publicity as well. As for the topic itself: Voted!

[Gemini]

Someone is posting something that is actually on topic?!? Wow!

Anyways, you're welcome. More on topic - I generally space it out over several days, so I've gotten through 5/7. We've got a great set this month, I'm really surprised!