Divenire

[YFWE]

This is the first time I’ve attempted a multi-chapter fanfic in ages. Hope it goes well.

The story takes its name from an album by Italian pianist/composer Ludovico Einaudi. The chapter titles will correspond with tracks from the album as well. While I am also doing my best to attempt to fit the mood of each individual song, this will not always be the case – this first chapter being one of those.

Hope the Italian in the titles isn’t too off-putting. I considered changing it to English, but ultimately decided to keep it as is. I like the sound of it more than the alternatives.

I sincerely hope you are entertained. That is my goal, as always.



Divenire

1: Uno


A Pride Lands morning was once a beacon of opportunity for King Simba, the orange sun announcing the dawning of a new day, a day in which there was unlimited potential. In his younger years, it meant a day spent by the waterhole, lounging in the shade of an acacia tree. Or perhaps it meant a hunt with Mufasa, after which they would bring a large antelope to add to a hearty feast the pride would have that night. Still yet, a day spent with childhood friend Nala, stealing away the hours roaming the lands, discovering what innocuous mischief they could get themselves into.

In those days, life was carefree, and the morning brought excitement. The sun’s rise could mean a number of things, much of them good and well. Even in his days in the jungle, the possibilities were continuous, and always untroubled.

But in the new era, Simba only dreaded the morning.

Instead, he wished he could be in a chronic sleep, a part of an endless night of dreams and slumber. Not that his dreams were pleasant – often they were anything but – but at least it was not reality. Reality was that to which he had to wake up at dawn, and the reality was that he feared it.

Scar’s death and the subsequent end of his reign had first brought peace and infectious glee to the Pride Lands. Hardship’s end was in sight. The foliage would be returned to the savanna, bringing the incentive for grazing herds to return as well. The ravenous hyenas would leave, warfare would be ended, the drought would cease and order would reign over a scarred land.

Some of this did occur: the hyenas left, albeit grudgingly. The drought ended, with rains sweeping the land just after Scar’s end.

But not all could take place immediately. Returning the Pride Lands to its original splendor could take many seasons. Plants could not grow instantaneously. Food would be scarce for quite some time.

These were problems that Simba, by all accounts a young king, felt each day. The sun brought the suffocating notion that he and he alone presided over an entire ecosystem on which many depended. He was a king – THE king – and the king was looked to for leadership in dire times.

But what kind of king was he? He had merely been in power for a few days, and no progress had been made. Worse still were the outside threats which still plagued his pride.

It began that morning, with visits from two different individuals.

The first came before Simba had even awoken. Having felt a prodding against his side, his eyes fluttered open slowly to see a lioness before him, staring at him expectantly.

Her name was Adhra. Usually she was the lioness who patrolled the borders of the land during the night hours. She came with a message.

“I overheard a conversation during my stroll around the northern border,” she said after a long bow to Simba. “As you know, the hyenas have taken refuge within the Outlands once more.”

“So I expected,” said Simba with a yawn.

“Yes, well, it doesn’t sound like they intend to be there for long. I was able to get close enough to overhear two fellow patrollers speaking of an assault on the Pride Lands.”

This awakened Simba completely. “An assault? But why?!”

“I cannot say. I am only reporting what I have heard,” Adhra muttered. With an additional bow, she left the inner cave of Pride Rock.

The king watched her go. Once she was out of sight, he rose with a minute snarl and began to pace across the dirty stone ground. Nala, who had been asleep beside him, heard his audible frustration and woke instantly.

“Simba, what’s wrong?” she asked groggily.

Simba emitted a long sigh, and turned to her. “Adhra was just here. She says the hyenas are planning an attack on us.”

These words caused Nala to send a bemused glance at the king. “An attack?” she asked incredulously. “That doesn’t make sense…”

“Doesn’t it? The hyenas only left on their own accord, Nala. We didn’t tell them to leave, and we didn’t have any contact with them while they left.” Simba glanced out of the cave mouth, at the barren grounds that lay before him. “What’s more… whatever hardships we’re facing here, I’m sure it’s far worse in the Outlands.”

But this was not the only peril that befell King Simba that fateful morning. He mulled over Adhra’s report for quite some time, adding it to the already dire outlook brought about by the conditions of the desolate Pride Lands. The motivation finally struck him to visit with Rafiki, who would certainly have an answer to his problems – or so he thought.

Yet as he neared the immaculate baobab tree in which the old shaman resided, Simba felt a sense of uneasiness creep over him, filling his entire body with unease. Rafiki was not swinging around his tree as he usually was, nor was he even visibly active at all. Simba by no means feared the worst, but the disquiet was intimidating.

Finally, after the lion called up into the tree a few times, the old mandrill appeared at its edge. He had a particularly disheveled look about him, one not of his normal stature. Slowly he climbed down the large tree to take a place before his king, to whom he bowed. “My king,” he said in a weary voice, one seemingly not his own. “Good you showed. I bring bad news.”

Simba confusedly looked at the shaman. “But I… me, too. I mean I have bad news to tell as well, Rafiki.”

The elder’s eyes widened as he stared into Simba’s own, and the lion could barely keep his composure to not break eye contact. The look Rafiki gave Simba was one of utter despair, the look of a weathered being who, despite having seen immense hardships in his extensive life, was nonetheless frightened. And Simba, having known Rafiki for quite some time, knew this to be so out of character that he felt his unease only growing.

“And… what might dis be?” asked Rafiki, his voice wavering.

Simba sighed heavily. “One of my patrols has informed me that the hyenas are planning an assault on the Pride Lands. This coupled with the state of the land anyway… and… well, I’m in trouble, Rafiki, I really am. I came to seek your advice on the matter.”

Initially Simba hoped that perhaps the news Rafiki intended to bring him was also concerning the hyena attack. But seeing the still-troubled expression on the shaman’s face led him to realize that there was, in fact, even more to worry about.

“Well, dis worries me,” spoke the mandrill after a long pause, “for it is possible dat de news I have received may be linked to yours in some way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Walk with me.”

It was a beautiful day, even if the barren grounds about them did not help to brighten the day’s worth. They walked past quite a few lingering skeletons, and if any indication of growing grass was present, it was certainly not visible. The trees and plains were bare; even Rafiki’s baobab home was significantly deteriorated.

“Simba,” said Rafiki finally, “you of course know dat I am in direct conversation wit de Great Kings, yes?” Simba nodded.

“Dey spoke to me dis morning, and de outlook… it is not good, I am afraid. Bad tings are ahead, maybe worse dan dat we have already seen.”

Simba frowned. “Worse than Scar? Than the drought?”

“Potentially. Simba, have you heard of a being known as Nbushe?”

The king shook his head. He had not. Unless mention of the name had been inserted somewhere in his father’s teachings when he was a cub, he had never even heard the word.

“I feared so.” Rafiki stopped walking and leaped upon a small boulder nearby, turning to face his accomplice. “Nbushe is all, dey say. Nbushe is in de grass, in de ground, in de air. Nbushe, dey say, IS all dose tings. Nbushe knows us before we are born, and welcomes us when we die. Nbushe, as I say, is all.”

Simba was perplexed, and he could not resist a dubious look of displeasure. “You sound as if you’re talking about the Great Kings, Rafiki. Aiheu, maybe. A higher power of some sort.”

Rafiki shook his head. “If you know Aiheu, den you are on de right track, but not quite dere. It is not Aiheu who you really refer to, but Nbushe. Aiheu was a great king, or so it is said, but dere is a cult of personality surrounding him. He knows dis actually, and is quite flattered by it. But in de times before Aiheu, dere had to be something or someone else, yes?”

“I… guess so.”

“We may have different names for dis higher power,” Rafiki continued, “but in de end, de name we seek is Nbushe. Nbushe, I say, is all.

“De Kings tell me dat Nbushe is unhappy, my king. Unhappy in particular with our pride and the surrounding areas. You see, it is said dat all bad luck dat befalls a being is done so because dey have angered Nbushe. It appears dat we have angered Nbushe in some way.”

“Wh-what? Why? Why would it be angry?” asked the king, his voice quivering.

Rafiki’s expression was one of utmost displeasure. He shook his head quickly, jumped from the boulder, and continued his motion. “No, no no no no, I cannot say,” he said quickly, his words slurring together. “It is not my place. I cannot disrupt de balance.”

“What balance, Rafiki? What are you talking about?”

“No… no, no. Wafalme, kwa nini mapigo yangu,” he sputtered, breaking into languages which Simba could not make out.

“Rafiki! Listen to me!”

“Nataka kumwambia lakini i hawawezi. Kwa nini, nbushe, kwa nini…” was the mandrill’s only response, but his voice was distant. Simba wanted desperately to stop him, to find out what the problem truly was, but the fit into which Rafiki had submerged was formidable. His limbs shook, his face contorting, expression pained. A trail of saliva formed at the corners of his mouth.

The Lion King moaned in anguish at what was happening to the shaman, the being who he most considered at that point his father figure. As he watched Rafiki’s fit, voices crowded his mind. Only you can save your people, they said. Do something before all fails.

An immense screech suddenly filled the air. Rafiki had froze, his arms spread to the sky, his head raised upward. The pupils of the mandrill’s eyes had vanished; only color remained.

“Simba, go! You are the key! Become!” Rafiki cried abruptly. And the shaman’s frame slackened as he fell to the ground.

Simba rushed ahead to meet Rafiki, to check on his dear friend, when another calling voice distracted him. “Simba!” yelled Nala. “Simba, come to me!”

The lion whipped around, seeing the lioness bounding toward him from the direction of Pride Rock. He hurriedly ran to her, his vision seemingly blurring by the second, blackness appearing at the sides of his gaze as he finally found his friend. He tried to speak, but no words came.

“Simba!” cried Nala again, nuzzling the lion’s neck as she reached him. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Simba,” she spoke again. “Two lionesses ventured to the Outlands after Adhra’s report. Adhra followed them to bring them back. But she didn’t come back – they did. Oh, Adhra’s dead, Simba. The hyenas killed her. And they’re on their way here now!”


END

[FlipMode]

I liked the first chapter overall, it was a little "dark" I guess I would describe it, but the pacing was good and it is pretty darn well written. Interesting that it has some Italian cues (as opposed to the usual Swahili / African themes.)
I shall look forward to see how it develops =) and also if it means anything I left the page open when I went downstairs to make some tea (cause you know, British people love their tea) and a friend of mine read it who has not even seen the film and he said he liked it too, aint that a thing.

[YFWE]

Well, ain't that nice of you (and your friend!!)! Thanks much for the feedback. And yes, the intended mood was to be a little dark. I'm still trying to figure out if I'm going to keep that mood all throughout... we'll see.

Again, thanks!

[DGFone]

I will leave it with that I want to read the rest as soon as I can.

In other words, it's rather amazing. Unlike Flip, I did not notice the Italian clue, but I might re-read this when I'll get the time and see if I can spot them. But Letters, you are a great writer! Everything you post makes a terrific read and can really brighten my day.

Edit: Doesn't the title mean "divine?"

[cleargreenwater]

Very much looking forward to the next installment :3

[YFWE]

Thanks much, you two!!

And "divenire" actually translates to "to become." But good guess, actually. It certainly would fit with what I'm going to do, I think.

[YFWE]

Thanks much for the feedback , y’all! You’re great.

This is probably the quickest I’ve ever updated a TLK story. Be happy.

Sorry for the general rushed sense of this chapter. I needed to get this done by a certain time and had to hurry to do so. I promise that later chapters will not follow this trend.



Divenire
2: Divenire


The lionesses of Pride Rock had gathered within its confines, a somber mood falling like great shade over them. Occasionally, one would rear her head or claw at the stone ground in agitation, before retreating into quiet concord. The cave was lit from the morning sun which shone inside, stopping only at its furthermost reaches.

Before the group sat a few lions, separate from the lionesses but very much attentive to their qualms. King Simba sat at its forefront. His brown mane flickered lightly against a swelling breeze which wafted into the cavern. His gaze was stern, but his demeanor calm. He had been granted time to rest his nerves following Nala’s initial announcement of Adhra’s death and the hyenas’ subsequent advancement onto their land, as Rafiki’s tree was a ways away from Pride Rock, which provided the opportunity to order one’s thoughts.

Two lionesses flanked Simba on either side. On his right sat Nala. Though elegant and strong as any lioness in the pride, she could not help but show her trepidation, her face turned downward in an expression of preoccupation.

Simba’s mother stood on his left. Where Nala was strong-willed but fearful, Sarabi was not only valiant in her stature, but just as regal. Though her days as queen were over, the golden-brown lioness still brought a leadership to the pride that had gone unopposed to that point. Her gaze was on her soon, her warm look urging him on.

It took him a moment before Simba could finally speak. Glancing at Sarabi for a few moments to glean a spot of extra courage from her motherly gaze, he looked up into the crowd of gathered, restless lionesses, and began to orate.

“…as you know already, Adhra is dead,” the king started. Solemnly the lionesses turned to the corner of the cave, at which the fallen patrol lay. Her body had been cleaned of its wounds since she had been returned to the cave by her accomplices, but all along her frame, one could see where the fatal blows had been dealt.

Nala gave a sob of frustration – a minute one, but noticeable nonetheless – before swallowing it down and reverting to her attempt at a fearless gaze. Adhra had been one of her closest friends in the pride, and above all a sister figure to the lioness, as Nala was a mere few seasons younger than she.

“I am told that Zira and Ghasia were with her at the time of her death, and were able to bring her body back here. Zira, could you tell us what has happened?” he asked.

A lioness stepped forward, one of the few whose nerves seemed to be about her. Zira was one of the stronger lionesses of the group, so thought Simba. Her connections to Scar had worried him, but with her insistence that her dedication rested with their pride and their pride alone, and that Scar had acted merely on his own accord without her knowledge, Simba was pacified.

“Adhra wanted to sneak further into the Outlands,” spoke Zira in a raspy, weary vocal, “despite what was originally said, that we went away first and she followed. No, we decided to follow Adhra herself back into the Outlands, as strength lies in numbers, not in mere brute strength of one being. She was grateful for the assistance, and we wanted to see what those mangy things were up to, anyway.

“She led the way, having known the place better than the rest of us. When we reached the graveyard that sits on its outskirts, Adhra told us to hang back for a moment while she ventured within. Moments later we heard a cry, a scream, and… well…”

“Attacked,” Ghasia said, her speech rushed in a nervous slur. “A surprise one. The hyenas must have seen her before and knew she was coming.”

“We could barely pull her away from them to bring her back,” chimed in Zira.

Simba looked to the three lionesses, then to Adhra’s lifeless body, and back to them. Giving a slow nod, he spoke, “Thank you, you two. Thank you for returning Adhra to us.”

He swallowed once, before continuing.

“As many of you know, Adhra was one of our strongest and youngest lionesses. We will miss her, but her memory shall live on. I ask you to lift her name to the Great Kings this evening as they welcome her into their kingdom.

“War is imminent,” he said, blurting out the statement as though he had feared the words since they first formed in his mind. “Normally, we would send a party to the hyenas to negotiate. If they agreed to our terms, a crisis could be averted. But now is not the time for such things. I am told that the hyenas are now on their way here. They will likely be at Pride Rock before nightfall.”

Whispering voices broke through the cave, some frantic, some tense, some with passionate ire. The king raised a paw to silence the fervent vocalizations. The din gradually subsided.

“We depart now. Yes, we have seen the hyena forces and yes, they may outnumber us. But now, it is either kill or be killed. We cannot allow the hyenas to retake our land. Look what was the result of that last time.”

“Sire, shall I alert neighboring kingdoms?” asked Zazu, the hornbill perched atop Sarabi’s shoulder.

Simba thought for a moment, before replying, “Yes, Zazu, please do. Make the news urgent. If they arrive following our defeat, perhaps they can reclaim that which we have lost again.”

With a quick nod, Zazu turned on his talon and flew out the mouth of the cave, soon a blue blur against the midday sky.

“Simba,” spoke Sarabi, “please, if you would, allow me to speak to the lionesses in private before we leave.”

The king glanced at his mother quizzically. She merely shook her head. “Your father afforded me this,” she said sternly. “I ask now that you grant me this same privilege.”

Though still confused, Simba assented silently to Sarabi. He departed the innards of Pride Rock, bounding out onto the promontory of the huge edifice. It was a normal day, or so it seemed by comparison to the unrest that was unfolding. Even the northern border, from which an attack was surely coming, seemed serene, its shadows containing whatever secrets it was said to harbor.

Confusion took hold of the young lion. He could not understand why Adhra had wanted to venture back into the very place she should not go. She had always seemed smart, albeit perhaps a bit too sure of herself. Nonetheless, Nala’s original report had been that Zira and Ghasia had been off toward the Outlands themselves, with Adhra following – not the other way around. Had it been a mere miscommunication? If not, what had Zira and Ghasia been doing going to the Outlands by themselves? Did they seek a confirmation of what Adhra was said to have heard?

And still on his mind was his meeting with Rafiki prior to the news of homicide. The mandrill’s words startled him, and he had not even been able to understand all that Rafiki had orated. But a few choice words did stick in his head – “You are the key!” he had cried. “Become!”

Ever-present too was the threat of Nbushe, thought Simba. A spirit, which seemed to perhaps be the spirit that made all – including all life forms – and it was angry with Simba’s pride. For how long had it been angry with them? Had Scar dealt with it? Even his father? And what was the key to coaxing it from its agitation?

Key, Simba thought. Rafiki said that I was the key. Could that mean…?

“I hear there’s war afoot, mon Capitán!”

Timon and Pumbaa had joined Simba on the outlook. Timon stood atop his warthog accomplice’s head, his chest puffed outward in a courageous stance. Beneath him, Pumbaa was quiet, but his expression was one of determination.

The meerkat breathed in deeply, exhaled, and looked to the lion beside him. “So, who’dya piss off this time?”

Simba sighed. “The hyenas are back, guys. They killed one of our own today, and they’re on their way here now.”

“Heh, big deal! We’ll give ‘em the ol’ beatdown again. Maybe one of them’ll call Pumbaa a pig again or something.” He scampered off Pumbaa and onto Simba’s broad back. “Kid, as long as you don’t make us do the hula again, we’re right behind ya.”

The king grimaced, an attempt at a smile snaking onto his face before disappearing completely. “…actually, I think you guys should stay back.”

“What?! Your most able officers, not on the front line?!”

“C’mon, Simba, let us help you!” said Pumbaa.

“Guys, we may have the hyenas in strength, but they have numbers,” Simba said animatedly. “We didn’t really defeat them, after all. They left when Scar basically betrayed them. And you saw what was left of him when they were through…”

“Yeesh,” gulped Timon. “Don’t remind me.”

“…but,” began Simba again, with a thoughtful expression, “if you two can make it to Rafiki, that would be great. I don’t know if he knows what’s about to happen. Plus… well, I’m sure we could use him in some way.”

Timon only stared at Simba for quite some time, his gaze studying the young lion king. Finally, with a wink of encouragement, he leapt off Simba’s back and onto Pumbaa’s. “Fine. One crazy monkey, coming right up. Let’s go, buddy.”

Simba watched them depart, the duo bounding down the side of the formation and into the savanna. However, he did not watch Timon and Pumbaa leave down the side of Pride Rock, for his focus was instead rested upon a fissure in the stone surface just beyond where his friends had left.

It was a lion, one which he had never seen in his life. Its black coat shone brightly against the sun, its mane even darker against the tan rock. It was beckoning him, wanting him to join it within or nearby the fissure. Its eyes, red-looking from afar, were by no means inviting, and yet Simba felt obligated to speak to it.

“What is your name?” he called, stepping a few paces toward the fissure. “Come to me.”

The lion shook its head, and beckoned again.

“I say, traveler, come here! You do not understand the trouble my pride is in now. I must see you in the daylight.”

But the lion was steadfast in its insistence on Simba coming to it rather than it coming to him. Again, it hurriedly beckoned, seemingly slipping deeper into the fissure, though Simba knew the crack to be shallow in stature, meaning therefore that the lion could not venture inside much further.

“I will ask you one last time –”

Another shake of its head. Another beckon.

Simba roared soundly, eyes closed in roused frustration. He charged the lion, paws light against the dusty stone ground.

“Simba!”

The lion skidded to a halt and glanced to his left. Nala sat at the entrance of the cavern. She was worried, her expression seeming troubled. “What’s the matter?” she asked, puzzled.

“An intruder!” cried Simba. “Look!” He pointed to the fissure in the surface.

But when Nala looked to the spot, her expression became only more troubled – and Simba could see why immediately. Instead of a summoning, red-eyed black lion, there was nothing but a large crack in the stone.

Wide-eyed confusion swept across Simba. He hurried to the spot. “No! No, no, he was here!” he exclaimed, searching within the fissure. “I promise you, Nala! Here!”

“Simba! What is wrong?” came Sarabi’s voice. “Stop! Calm yourself.”

The lion backed away from the crack, and his gaze fell upon the rest of the pride. Sarabi stood at its forefront, a stern look spread across her face.

Simba was breathing heavily by that point, and it took quite a few moments for his muscles to unclench and for his breath to come back to him at a settling pace. Shaking his head once, he spoke: “I… I’m sorry, everyone, I must have been seeing things.” He turned to Sarabi. “Are we ready?”

Sarabi said nothing. She studied her son with a teaching glare, scrutinizing every last spot upon his body, or so it seemed. Nala finally spoke for her. “Yes, we’re ready, Simba. Are you?”

The king stood to his upmost posture and nodded, gulping once. “I am. Let us proceed.”

“What is your plan?” called out Sarafina.

Simba cursed himself internally. He had not any such plan of attack. He merely knew what had to be done, but not the way in which to do it.

But somehow, he was able to keep his composure, or at least refrained from letting the lionesses on to his unpreparedness. “We’ll… we’ll send scouts ahead,” he said finally. “These scouts can tell us where the hyenas are, and we will formulate an ambush of sorts from there, if we can. Do we have any volunteers to do this?”

Zira stepped forward. “I will,” she stated. “I know the land better than anyone we have left.” Ghasia and another lioness, Nyeupe, volunteered their service as well with nods of affirmation.

“Good. Thank you. Go,” said Simba shortly. “Let us know what you see.” The lionesses were gone moments later, bounding down the side of Pride Rock and out into the savanna, north toward the Outlands.

Simba turned to the remaining pride. “The rest of us… we’ll go now, too. But slowly. Keep your wits about you, my friends. We cannot allow the hyenas to intimidate us. We will not lose this battle by losing our composure. Understood?”

Receiving a silent assent from the remaining pride, Simba nodded to them. “Let’s go.”

They walked in relative silence through the savanna, Simba at the group’s forefront. Sarabi was astride her son, speaking not a word at first, just as before. The ground was dirty beneath them, and muddy from the rain a few nights prior. Brown substances caked their paws and lower legs.

“Simba,” spoke Sarabi finally, “there is something troubling you.”

Simba shook his head. “No, mother,” he said. “There isn’t. Let’s not think about this now.”

“But there is. There is, and I can tell it.”

The lion could only sigh, and turn away from his mother. “It’s… it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m only worried for the well-being of the pride.”

“We all are, and yet, we are not as flustered as you seem to be,” said Sarabi austerely. “And while I cannot determine what that is, know this – Simba, you must face your fears. Just because you are a king does not make you a great one. This is something you must become.”

Nala listened to the conversation intently, hoping her friend would reveal that which was troubling him. She had seen into the fissure. There had been nothing there. She knew not what Simba had seen, and it worried her.

“My son, I say this because I want you to be the best for this pride, not because I am angry or unbelieving in you,” Sarabi continued. “Whatever problems face you, you must put them aside now and focus on the task ahead. Become our king, Simba. Not just in name, but with Mufasa and the Great Kings as witness. Do this, do this in the name of glorious Aiheu, my son.”

“Nbushe, I say, is all,” were Rafiki’s words in Simba’s mind at the mention of Aiheu. Nonetheless, he shoved the ranting of his shaman friend into the back of his mind for that moment, and nodded to Sarabi.

“Yes, mother,” he said. “In the name of Aiheu.”

Nearby, upon the promontory of Pride Rock, was a great black mist, hovering in an uncanny mess of shapes as it watched the lions depart.

END CHAPTER

[Azdgari]

Mmm, I love Ludovico Einaudi. And I love this as well! Great pace, characterization and a plot that's got me hooked. Keep it up homie! <3

[Panda-chan]

It's nearly impossible to get me to read a fanfic, much less maintain my interest enough to read the whole thing through, but you actually succeeded in doing both. Seriously, your writing was so captivating that I actually read both chapters in a single sitting, which is so rare for someone as impatient and hyperactive as me LOL. So kudos for that XD
As others have mentioned, the plot and timing are excellent. The characters stay so true to their personalities that it's easy to imagine this being an actual part of the movie. The mood of the fanfic is gloomy, so if that is what you intended, you pulled it off pretty well. I actually think it's better that you made the story more dark than the actual movie, especially considering the time it's set in. Disney was too child-friendly to include this interval of the story into the movie and just directly skipped to the time when the Pridelands were beautiful again lol.
I also feel a lot for Simba and all the problems he has to deal with. I have an idea about where the plot is going but I won't blurt it out here in case I happen to be right and spoil it for everyone else. But yeah, I am excited for the next chapter