Just a little exploration into a muse I had a moment ago...the first
part of a multisegmented story that I hope will be more palatable than the
first time I tried something like this (Father Knows Best, anyone?).  :)
Rationalization, reasoning, and modus operandi have always been sticking
points of mine in TLK stories...I want to know why so-and-so did
such-and-such.  I have no problems with Scar killing Mufasa or Zira wanting
revenge...I just want to justify (if possible) why these things happened.
    Such things are always conjecture, of course...but in the aftermath of
tumultuous events, we always like to look back in retrospect and seek out
the root of things, to explain to ourselves why we did the things we did,
often because the events in question go against our normal nature.  People
do change, though...lions, too.  And all too often we never know why.  Maybe
this is just my own personal ramble on a possible reason.  At any rate, take
it for what it is...conjecture, a guess, and as always, non-official (and in
no way contesting Disney copyright, blah blah blah...  :))

    Above all is the reason I wrote it at all: have fun with it.  I am.
                                                                            
                                                                     --D.A.M.  
11/26/00

No Hour So Fit...
David A. Morris


CHAPTER ONE

Ten miles south of the Mpenda Escarpment / Sunset

    The concept of time is somewhat muddled to some animals; seconds,
minutes and hours hold little meaning for them.  Time is measured in the
growth of a cub, the passing of rains, and the movement of herds across the
great slopes of the savanna plain.  Time is a vast sea, whose movement ebbs
and flows in great tides, and there exist only two great shoals where the
minutae of its movement become clearly evident: the rise and fall of the
moon, and her elder brother, the sun.
    The trails of those two had become quite muddled in the past several
days, with the clouds forming overhead in great, roiling masses that rumbled
ominously like a great king dreaming in his sleep.  Their absence did not
affect the animals that dwelt far below upon the plains, however; their
patterns were rigid with the basic needs of survival: sleep, eat, and drink.
An overcast day meant little to a hungry springbok; grass was grass, no
matter how well you could see it.  And for the huntress waiting patiently
above, a springbok was a springbok: it tasted good regardless how nicely its
pelt shone in the sun.
    The springbok in question suddenly glowed brighter, as if her attention
had singled it out for some divine luminescence, and Zira begrudged a small
movement to peer over her shoulder at the crimson ray of light that had
dared peek through the cloud cover overhead.  A good sign, she judged;
unlike previous hunts, the gods forbode well on this one.  And if they
didn't, to hell with them.  She would.
    She returned her attention to the young animal that lay before her, some
forty meters distant.  The actual distance mattered little to her as well;
the huntress measured it in her own body lengths, and knew well how long it
took her to traverse such a distance.  The slight swelling in her abdomen
could be felt, but at this point in time, it was little hindrance to her
hunting ability.  It would be some time before she had to adjust herself to
compensate, and she would be damned to the nether plains and back before she
let someone hunt for her.  The idea was simply distasteful.  Only old
crones and the sickly or weak let others do their hunting for them; it was a
sign of impending death....and for the moment, Zira was very much alive, and
intended to stay so for a long, long time.
    Starting right here.  The elegant ebony of her lips pulled back in a
small smile as she began to slide slowly through the grass, the individual
stalks whispering secretly to each other about her presence.  Her mother had
long ago taught her the secrets of the stalk; you could place your paws,
just so, get the right grip, but your real enemy was the terrain that grew
around you, not the one you walked on.  Bushes, leaves, and most of all, the
grass were foes to be reckoned with...foes with neither tooth nor claw, but
a voice that would warn your prey and frighten it away.  Lions could roar,
hyenas could bite, but the whispering grass would starve you to death in an
agony no predator could match.  Such were the lessons taught long ago, and
Zira was mindful of them all.
    The dim shadow before her faded as the sun's light faded from the sky,
the clouds above reasserting their power once more.  Cursing silently, she
paused and lifted her head again, carefully, trying to get a bearing on the
'boks before the landscape dimmed beyond recognition; their scent flowed
clearly enough to her, but she needed her eyes to track her target.  Once
she was committed to her sprint, she would get only a few seconds at most to
aquire her choice amongs the panicking animals, unless it was completely
stupid and broke away from the herd, something possible but not assurable.
Seconds ticked by before she sighted it, its slender neck arched gracefully
down as it cropped the grass beneath its hooves.  She grinned again.  Maybe
not fat...none of the animals in the Pride Lands were at the moment....but
it was dumb and happy, a condition she intended to remedy in just a moment.
    The grass began to thin out before her, and she paused carefully,
settling down into a low crouch as she gazed intently ahead of her.  Down
the slope, the grass ran out, leaving perhaps ten meters of open ground for
her to cover before she could reach the herd.  More than enough room to
operate in, and plenty of dodging space if the herd took it in its head to
try to run her over.  On the odd occasion that happened, you ran
perpendicular to the front of the charge until you got in the clear.  The
big no-no, and the one that most often killed inexperienced huntresses, was
to run directly away from the herd.  Lionesses are not long-distance
sprinters.  Flee the panicked animals directly, and the inevitable happened:
you got tired, you ran out of room, and you were reduced to something only h
yenas would desire to look at.
    She thought of what had happened to little Simba years ago and
shuddered.  Her beloved Scar had had to stand by and witness that, bereft of
any power but that of observer upon the death of his brother and nephew.  A
terrible loss, that had been.  Mufasa's death had left little mark upon her;
the big lion was aloof and reluctant to engage in casual conversation with
anyone, remaining polite and civil as his duties had demanded, but no more.
The weeping horde that had greeted his death notice had quite frankly
disgusted her; most of the hussies in the pride had barely passed words with
the lion outside of a mating convocation, but acted as if their hearts had
been rent.  The untimely death of Simba had left her with an indescribable
ache that had troubled her greatly, until Scar's intervention into her life
and the birth of Nuka had been able to define its source: Zira had had no
cubs of her own with Mufasa.  She was young, yes, but easily mature enough
to bear children, but the thought had bothered her considerably.  Mufasa had
divined this upon her first season, and considerately enough, had left her
alone, remaining nearby for the companionship a lioness desired at such
times but attempting nothing else.  After several such encounters, the pride
lionesses had chalked it up to infertility and left it at that, and neither
Mufasa nor Zira had sought to enlighten them otherwise.
    She shook herself out of her reverie and cursed under her breath,
realizing the herd of springbok had drifted away from her while she was
woolgathering.  A careful examination confirmed her fears with a sinking
feeling; the distance was at the limit.  She had violated one of her
mother's cardinal rules of hunting, to keep her thoughts focussed on the
prey and nothing else.  Now she was going to pay the price; it was doubtful
that she could sustain her sprint long enough to catch the little 'bok
before she ran out of wind.
    "Serves you right," she grumbled to herself.  "An empty belly should
teach you a lesson.  Now you can go home and-"
    She cringed inwardly at the thought.  She would not be the first lioness
to return home empty-jawed after a hunt, but her success rate was near
perfect; the pride could count on Zira to get something on a hunt, even if
it was a stringy rabbit or one of the curmugeonly badgers that dotted the
plains hither and yon.  And it was not the fact that she had failed that
bothered her, it was that the failure had been her own doing, not that of a
young lioness a hundred yards away spooking the herd.  She had blown her own
hunt, and the thought of admitting this to her pridesisters was loathesome.
    A faint twinge inside her belly decided her.  Hungry or not, her belly
was not exactly empty anymore.  Selfishness was not an option.  The child
inside her needed food, as did her cub Nuka, waiting at home; therefore, she
would eat, and she would stay out as long as it took.  Resigning herself to
this, she cleared her head, crouching down and drawing several deep breaths,
reciting her hunting litany to herself even though she hunted alone.
    "We hunt together, thee, and I.  Thy sight is keen, thy claws are true.
May the blood of thy prey run quick and sure, for we will feast together
under the moon."
    Her eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as she sprung from her hiding place,
barely feeling the glorious surge of power as her haunches uncoiled and
propelled her forward.  She had a hazy impression of the herd beginning to
take flight before her, springboks exploding away in all directions, but the
one she had singled out seemed to move in a slow, graceful dance as its head
came up, looking at her in astonishment.  It crouched down and leapt away as
she closed the gap of bare ground between them, its tiny hooves kicking up
puffs of dust from the dry earth underneath, the white tail fully extended
and blaring its bright color of alarm in the dim light.
    The smooth cadence of her breathing began to break up as her control
waned, air surging in and out of her chest in quick, painful gasps as she
closed the distance slowly, but it was not enough.  She was reaching her
limit, and panic surged through her limbs as she strained harder,
desperately hoping for some last vestige of strength to carry her forward.
Please, oh please, just another length or two...
    The springbok suddenly vanished in a cloud of dust, a bleat of pure fear
emenating from its center as the animal stumbled over some unseen burrow.  A
brittle snap broke the air as one of its forelegs broke, and the 'bok
tumbled into a heap, flailing its limbs desperately in an unsuccessful
attempt to rise.  It managed a halfhearted shuffle, sliding over the earth,
and then was gone under the bulk of the lioness's three hundred pounds, the
impact sending both of them skidding into a small hummock of dirt with a
dull thump.  Her claws flicked out, clutching the animal to her as her jaws
closed over its throat, releasing a small river of crimson and rendering it
silent with a sure finality.
    Zira remained motionless for some moments, her nostrils flaring widely
as she fought for breath, unwilling to release the springbok even after its
trembling ceased.  She was not fooled; mere chance had saved her hunt from
total disaster, and the fear that the animal would leap away and leave her
empty-jawed was well nigh insurmountable.  She listened, her ears flicking
to the night sounds as the herd slowed some distance away, the cries of the
panicked animals turning to a series of low bleats, as if someone was taking
attendance, knowing that one would never answer again.  Eventually, the
sound vanished, buried under the soothing thud of her own heartbeat, its
cadence and rhythym returning to normal once more.  The sound flowed through
her with a cathartic effect, and she released the springbok, letting it roll
away to lie limply on the ground.
    "Thy flight was true and thy blood pure," she intoned to the dead
animal, then stood to shake herself off roughly, the dry savanna dust
drifting down away from her pelt in a cloud.  The drought was almost
tyrannic in its punishment of predator and prey alike, and it was a sad
testimony to its power that she had been required to roam out this far from
Pride Rock in order to find something worth hunting.  It would take her a
good deal of the night to get back home, and by the time she returned, the
sun would be well on its way up.  Hopefully, some of the other lionesses had
met with some success, but the presence of the hyenas mitigated that factor
greatly.  She believed in Scar's assertion that the animals would benefit
their pride with their presence, but privately, she wished her lover would
have chosen some other course.  In her opinion, the animals were smelly,
vulgar, offensive, and a pain in the ass in general.
    Sighing resignedly, she took a quick glance around to assure herself she
was alone; after the trials of this evening's hunt, to have her dinner
stolen away would be a tragic joke.  A small trace of smoke caught her eye
as she looked in the direction of Pride Rock, and she glanced at it oddly
for a moment, wondering what was up.  A brushfire was the obvious answer;
the dry condition of the land was practically begging for some
conflagaration from the heavens to set it afire.  She had often seen
lightning strikes, far out on the savanna late at night, and the sight never
failed to impress her.  The image of fire near her home did not alarm her
overmuch, however; it was far enough away that she could easily go around
it, even if it took extra time.  And Pride Rock did not have much foliage
around it, anymore; there was little it could do to burn solid stone.
    Confident that her family was safe from the orange spark in the
distance, she settled down comfortably to feed, and turned her back on the
twisting pillar of smoke that slowly rose into the evening sky.


CHAPTER TWO

	"Who else must be let blood, who else is rank;
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
	As Caesar's death hour..."

		-William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I		

	South of Pride Rock / Dawn

	The grassland around Pride Rock had been marked for ages with the varying 
trails that the lions used in their travels to hither and yon.  The paths seemed 
to move as the seasons did, their various wanderings moving and changing with a 
timeless patience to accommodate the wishes of their travelers.  On occasion a 
random flash flood or fallen tree might obstruct the path, necessitating a 
detour, but on average, the migrations of the land were slight, and mostly went 
unnoticed by the lions.
	This morning's migrations were anything but slight.  Time and again, Zira 
found herself forced to make an unwanted detour around an obstacle, the likes of 
which beginning to instill a feeling of foreboding deep within her chest.  The 
rain last night had been slightly heavy at times, but at most a mere annoyance 
that was borne with good humor; the bloody scent of her kill had been greatly 
reduced by the thundershowers, all but eliminating the worry of hyenas stealing 
her food out from under her.  She had spent the remainder of the night in the 
lee shelter of an old, denuded kigelia tree, alternately stripping the 
springbok's carcass of its leftover tidbits and cursing the wet, sodden fur that 
clung about her.  Such were the times that made her immensely grateful that she 
had been born a female; having to drag around a mane-even a slender, graceful 
one such as Scar bore-would have driven her mad.
	She had risen reluctantly in the early morning hours and begun her long 
trek back to the Rock, her limbs moving stiffly at first, but loosening up and 
warming her with a tingling, delicious feeling of power.  It was not quite the 
same as it was upon the hunt; there, one was focused and unaware of the body's 
movements, being merely a tool to call upon when needed.  But on the journey 
back to Pride Rock, she had exhilarated in the sensations coursing through her 
limbs, her pelt drying in the night air as she pushed herself into the trot that 
is the well known trademark of the lioness, eating the ground beneath her paws 
in a tireless, flowing dance.  The stars had gleamed down from above, the 
savanna grass whispering her passage to her, the cool air moving effortlessly 
about her, and through her, caught between the firmament of heaven and earth and 
not caring, only knowing that she was a lioness, and she was young, and for her, 
that was enough.
	That sublime feeling had begun to ebb slowly from her as the sun's light 
slowly began to turn the darkness in the east to a dull, misty grey.  Strange 
shapes had begun to loom out of the early, pre-dawn mist, looking nothing so 
much as like lost ships stranded in some forlorn sea.  She had been forced to 
check her progress and go around a large tree that appeared to have been washed 
down by a torrent of water; the ground about it had been scored with the 
brushstrokes left by the flowing rains.  Random limbs torn asunder from the 
trunks of their trees lay dotted along her path, and more than one nearly 
succeeded in tangling amongst her paws.  Old bones lay scattered in random 
patterns along the deadened grassland, and of these she took little note; 
rather, it was almost a comfort, signaling the closeness of the hyenas, and her 
home.
	The first dead hyena, however, brought her to a halt.
	Zira stared disbelievingly at first, caught in total surprise.  A hyena's 
carcass was not in of itself of note; the things were slowly starving, like it 
or not, and more than one had failed to return to the Rock after a hunting trip.  
The savanna itself took casualties as well; flying hooves and treacherous 
terrain could destroy a life like the snuffing of a candle's flame.  Fights 
amongst themselves were common.  And even that rarest of predators, old age, 
occasionally took a creature aside and laid it to rest, there to begin its slow, 
inevitable walk down the path to dissolution.
	This one, however, had not died a "natural death," and whatever had killed 
it was no hyena.  The body lay where the torrential rains had washed it aside, 
with one side of its head visibly caved in by some tremendous impact, the skull 
tilted at an awkward angle.  Score marks along its sides confirmed her 
impression; whatever had done this was leonine in nature, and there was only one 
lion she knew of that would dare to execute a hyena.
	"Scar, my love," she half-muttered to herself, "you really should control 
that temper of yours."  She glanced about warily, feeling a sensation of guilt 
sweep over her for a moment.  Whatever the creature had done to arouse Scar's 
ire, he had undoubtedly brought it upon himself.  Her lover's anger was 
notorious, but even the hottest fire has to have some ignition point.  
Reflexively, she dipped her head for a moment and bid the luckless hyena a good 
journey, wherever it was; death made no distinction upon those that ate grass or 
meat, and whatever transgression the poor creature had made, it was now settled 
in her eyes.
	Resolving to tread a ginger step until she had discovered what had aroused 
her lover's anger, Zira turned about and resumed her journey, the tall spire of 
Pride Rock now clearly visible above the mists that coursed about its base.  A 
small smile traced across her ebon lips, and she quickened her pace slightly, 
her tailtuft flicking about amiably as she anticipated her arrival at home.
	And then she saw the second hyena.
	This one brought her to a halt as the first carcass had, real fright 
beginning to course through her body.  It lay much as the first one had, 
sprawled where the ungentle rains had washed it aside in their journey down to 
the lowlands and the gorge in the distance.  The manner of its death was also 
visibly evident, much like the first, but the level of violence had risen 
considerably.  This one had nearly been torn asunder by a set of claws whose 
strength far exceeded Scar's.  And even together, a few lionesses working in 
tandem could not achieve the grisly sight that lay before her.  Clearly, another 
male had been here last night...perhaps even this morning...perhaps he was still 
here, now...
	An incoherent sound of fright forced itself up from her throat as she 
tried to gaze in all directions at once, suddenly aware of the cloying closeness 
of the groundmist that hid everything from her sight.  It billowed gently toward 
her from the direction of Pride Rock, and she recoiled at the wash of scents 
that assailed her nostrils; the smells of blood, scorched earth and fur, hyenas, 
lionesses...and lions.  Her love's scent, fragrant and clear, and another, musky 
and dark, terrifying in its strangeness and yet vaguely familiar.  The smell 
brought another image to her mind, unbidden, of a terrified cub, quailing 
before...what?
	"NUKAA!"
	The sound bolted from her throat in a shriek of fear as her locked muscles 
abruptly gave way, bunching and recoiling to send her sprinting toward the 
looming rock, the hoarse cry of her voice trailing after, chasing her and 
mocking her with echoes that bounced back from the flat faces of the rocks 
above.  The dull, wet grass underneath her paws gave way to black ash, coating 
her paws and forelegs with a thick and noisome slime as she slipped and 
scrabbled over the ground, the well worn path obliterated under runnels of mud.  
Ghostly forms passed by her, unheeded, until she nearly ran one down as it lay 
in her path.  Panting, she stood mute, her eyes wide and ringed with white, 
rolling in their sockets as she tore her gaze about frenziedly.
	"Zira?  ZIRA!"
	Her attention swung to the shape before her.  "Sarafina?"
	The other lioness nodded.  "Zira, calm down.  It's all right."
	"Where's my baby?"
	Nuka, at three months of age, was hardly a baby, but this was not the time 
for such distinctions.  "He was fine last time I saw him, Zira."  Sarafina's 
brow wrinkled abruptly.  "That was yesterday evening though, before the storm-"
	Zira left the older lioness speaking to thin air as she turned about, 
glancing rapidly from side to side.  Up above, upon the promontory, other 
lionesses had emerged, peering down with alarm at the disturbance and obviously 
wanting to know what the problem was.  As it stood, Zira didn't give a damn for 
their curiousity.  She was aware that her son had not emerged, and that meant he 
was somewhere nearby at the base of the rocks, he had so many hiding places, and 
stars above, that strange scent was everywhere.  Sarafina's words were a dull 
noise in her ears as she padded away, only aware that 'Fina had said all was 
well.  Whoever the stranger was, her lover must have triumphed with his pride 
and his hyena allies behind him.  Only a fool would have attacked such a bastion 
of strength.  Faced with such certain destruction, a lion might get desperate, 
might well nigh do anything to exact a toll on his enemies before going down, 
even so far as to-
	Her voice sundered the air again, her throat hoarse with the shriek.  
"NUKAAAAA!"
	And there it was.  A sound.
	Her own voice broke, the calling of her son's name now inceassant, 
painful, her throat raw and torn from her cries, unheeding of her own pain, 
calling again and again as she homed on the familiar sound, her paws scrabbling 
through the sour earth and ashy mud behind Pride Rock, the fallen bodies of 
hyenas now unnoticed.  Rounding a spire of rock, her paws slipped from under 
her, sending her sliding in the mud and filling her nostrils with soot and dirt.  
She rose, snorting and coughing, managing to choke out his name again.
	"Mama?"
	Zira whirled, scrabbling at her eyes with a forepaw, only serving to smear 
the dirt and ash worse.  She shook her head violently, flinging the debris away, 
and peered intently at what underbrush remained at the base of the rocks; 
carbonized skeletons that broke at her touch.  "Nuka?  Nuka baby, I'm 
here...come out, please!"
	She finally espied him, his tiny body wedged between two smallish rocks 
that lay tumbled together to form a low shelter.  Her body sagged with relief, 
the sudden sensation threatening to overwhelm her before she managed to assume 
control again.  "Come on, honey, come out.  Mama's here."
	Nuka shook his head rapidly, the fur along his cheeks softly thumping 
against the rock with his vehemence.  He uttered a low murmur, his eyes wide and 
staring, peering straight at her and beyond, somehow.
	"What?"  She crouched down low, curling towards him as if to offer herself 
to nurse, although that time had already passed.  "Mama can't hear you, baby.  
Come out and talk to her."
	The mist swirling about them lightened slightly, the sun beginning to warm 
the chilly air as it approached its arrival on the far side of Pride Rock.  The 
rising light gleamed off Nuka's eyes as they finally shifted to her, clean 
tracks cut through the mud on his dun cheeks.  "Can't come out, Mama.  Lion'll 
get me."
	Zira smiled softly, leaning close in.  "No he won't, honey.  Everything's 
all right now.  The bad lion's gone.  Your daddy and the other lionesses chased 
him away."
	The cub shook his head again, eyes welling brightly as his cheekfur rasped 
against the rocks.  "Bad lion got Daddy.  He'll get you too, Mama."  His voice 
disappeared, becoming a whisper.  "Please hide, quick, before he comes back!"
	The lioness made a low, cooing sound in her throat, a raspy purr that 
pained her.  "He won't come back, honey.  I can get Daddy to tell you, if you 
don't trust Mama."  She feigned hurt.  "If Mama's word isn't good enough, I'll 
get your Daddy.  Where's he at?"
	Nuka remained silent, his gaze shifting to a point just beyond her 
shoulder.  A tiny paw lifted, trembling, then was snatched back, as if it might 
be devoured.
	Zira glanced quizzically at her son for a moment, then glanced over her 
shoulder.  "Where?  I don't see-"
	The mists wafted apart again, assailing her with the scent of death.
	"Hide, Mama.  Please?  He can't get you if you hide."
	Zira stared, her ears cocked oddly, as if trying to make out some sound 
she couldn't quite hear, and then she began to scream, great whoops of air that 
tore at her ravaged throat, the sound echoing through the air as it lightened 
about her with the birth of the new day.


CHAPTER THREE

	"So shall you hear
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts
	Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,
	Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,
	And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
	Fall'n on the inventors' heads."

		-William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act V, Scene II


	Within Pride Rock / Evening

	She welcomed the sound of the rain.
	It sighed in through the cavern entrance, a low, whispering voice that 
drifted in on the afternoon breeze and caressed her ears with soft lies, telling 
her that all was well, that there was nothing to fear, that the rains had come 
at last and all was right with the world.  A cathartic lie, one she would not 
take comfort in.  After yesterday, nothing would ever be quite right again.
	"Zira?"
	The word echoed off the damp walls, and it was a moment before she turned 
her head to look at the speaker, her eyes dull.  "What?"
	Athelia looked at her unhappily, then glanced back over toward the rear of 
the cavern.  "He wants to talk to you.  Simba.  The king I mean."
	Zira's gaze remained dully fixed upon the falling rain outside.  "Oh.  I 
thought you mean the other Simba."
	"Zira, come on.  Please?"  The lioness dipped her head and nosed her 
friend's shoulder, then glanced back yet again, her whole carriage restless and 
unsure.  "You've been asked for by him specifically.  You don't want to keep him 
waiting."
	"Perish the thought."  The tone was uncharacteristically acerbic, almost 
bitter, surprising even Zira with its vehemence.  She felt the other lioness's 
touch vanish, and was immediately sorry for the remark; Athelia was one of her 
closer friends, and alienating the few companions she chose to let close to her 
did not appear to be one of Zira's wiser options at the moment.  Her close 
companionship with Scar had already established an invisible wall between her 
and most of the pride, though they had still treated her politely enough; her 
own gregarious personality and sense of humor had earned her the friendship of 
nearly all the pride over the seasons.  The distance had not stemmed from 
something inherent in herself, but rather her relationship with the volatile 
ruler of Pride Rock: it was the general opinion that she got away with more than 
most would dare, for Scar was rarely seen to chastise his new companion.  More 
often, it was another lioness who slunk to a dark corner of the Rock, publically 
humiliated for some slight, real or imagined, and usually the ones Zira disliked 
the most.
	She fetched another slow sigh.  This was the damnable truth of it.  The 
lionesses who mostly aroused Zira's ire were also the ones who never quite 
understood where Scar's boundaries lay.  She had come to understand this to be a 
universal truth about lions; they all had acceptable limits of behavior, and 
some of these lay in the land of eccentricity.  Mufasa had been averse to having 
his ears touched except by certain lionesses.  Scar had been a great one for 
free-thinking.  His had been a wide-ranging mind, ever touching upon some new 
concept or other, turning it this way and that and examining it from all sides.  
He had initially been wont to do this openly when he had first taken charge of 
the land after his brother's death, but the reaction from the lionesses had 
curbed this to a select few whom he shared his thoughts with; mostly Zira, if 
anyone.  The dark-maned lion had valued self-initiative above most other traits, 
and the capability to take one of his high-flown ideas and transform it into an 
active plan would delight him to no end, even if it never came to pass.
	The problem was, most of the slowbrain dimwits she had shared her pride 
with were incapable of this, or limited to a certain extent.  Those that were 
were the ones least likely to cooperate with Scar; most notably, Sarabi, 
Sarafina, and Mwike.  Mwike had at least been receptive to some of the ideas, 
but her tragic death in a hunting accident had bereft the lion of any confidant, 
save his most beloved.  He had come increasingly to her over the last few moons, 
until she had become his only trusted friend.  The rest of the pride fared, at 
best, with his demurral.  At worst, they would endure the pent-up rage of a lion 
that could not find fruition in those he should have been able to trust the 
most.
	A soft touch at her flank shook Zira from her reverie, and she 
straightened up, her voice softening.  "Listen, Athelia, I am sorry.  I didn't 
mean..."
	Her voice was squelched as if trodden upon as her eyes met the gaze of the 
lion across from her.
	"I'm sorry, too," he rumbled.  His eyes left hers, flickering down to 
stare at the floor for a moment, then back up.  "I found out from my mother 
about you and Scar...I wish it could have been different."
	Her voice came out flat, cutting through the silence in the cavern.  "I 
thought you were dead," she spat.  Her eyes glared balefully at him.
	He glanced away again, his tail curling round his legs as if trying to 
offer comfort.  "That was all a mistake," he murmured.  "A lot of things went 
wrong-"
	"Oh, I'd have to agree with you there, Sire."  The word slipped from her 
lips, venomous as a snake.  She let the title hang in the air, coiling itself 
around him and noting with some small surprise the pleasure she felt at seeing 
him squirm.  "For one thing, just what are you doing here?"
	"Zira!"  Sarabi's voice leapt up, shocked and dismayed.  "He came to help 
us-"
	"Help?  Since when did we ask for any help?"  She stared burningly at the 
elder lioness for a moment, then looked back at Simba once more.  "Why did you 
have to kill him?  Why not leave well enough alone?"
	"Well enough??  You were all starving when I got here."  His eyes 
flickered slightly, a glint far back inside them that she marked well.  She had 
learned Scar's boundaries long ago, learned to skirt the grey areas that could 
have sent others to their deaths.  He had his weak spots; she had just to find 
them and sink her claws beneath the skin.  If he thought he was going to swagger 
in here, murder her beloved, and then play the savior from on high, he was in 
for a surprise.
	And stars above, she wanted to make him hurt.
	"Ahh, so you've found the solution to all our problems then?"  She lifted 
an eyebrow, looking uncannily like her late lover.  "Odd.  We still appear to be 
short of food.  Or are the herds just behind schedule, to herald your wondrous 
return?"
	His eyes glinted dangerously, and she marked it yet again.  "The herds 
will return, given enough time.  All we have to do is work together, and we'll 
make it through."
	She backed off a bit, peering at him querulously.  "And just what would 
His Majesty have me do?"
	The thunderous look lifted from Simba's expression, replaced by one of 
relief.  "Well, I was hoping to ask your advice on this."  He glanced around, 
sighing slowly.  "I've been away a long time."
	Her voice cut across the space between them, making him look back at her 
in surprise.  "And just WHY did you pick this opportune moment to make your 
GRAND entrance?"  Zira's muzzle peeled back in a snarl, her fangs gleaming as 
she rose, pacing restlessly around the lion in a slow circle, burning off her 
anger with motion, but not all of it, no.  "This is primarily what interests me, 
Simba.  You see, seasons back, you were reported dead.  Now suddenly, here you 
are in the flesh, and NO one even questions the fact of WHY."  She peered 
around, making a show of looking underneath his belly.  "Is Mufasa hiding 
somewhere around, too?  Come on now, out with it."
	His voice came back, strained and unsteady.  "I've spent the time in 
exile...I thought I was responsible for my father's death."  His eyes closed, 
and the lion took a long breath, exhaling slowly.  "Now I know the truth, thanks 
to Scar."
	Zira blinked.  "And for this, you murder him?  I should think you would be 
grateful for hearing the truth."
	Simba's gaze snapped back to her, and for a moment, the lioness was afraid 
she'd pushed him too far.  "Grateful?  His lies were why I went into exile in 
the first place!  HE killed my father!"
	She stared at him, flabbergasted.  "And who told you this?"
	"He did!"
	"How can he be a liar and tell the truth all in one stroke?"  Her voice 
hissed savagely in the silence of the cavern.  "Now who's spouting nonsense?  
Why would he confess to such a ludicrous act?!"
Simba's teeth gleamed in the dim light that filtered into the cavern.  "He only 
confessed because I left him no other choice.  He could tell them the truth or-"
"Or what?  You'd teach him a lesson?"  Zira sneered at the young king, circling 
him, her neck arched in fury.  "Oh, I should think he WOULD confess!  Nay, he 
did what he thought would save him for fear of his own life, just as any lion 
would!"  Her eyes gleamed with a vicious triumph.  "Just as any lion would with 
fangs at his throat and the nuzzle of death upon his nape!"
	Nala's voice broke in angrily.  "He used the hyenas to try to murder 
Simba!"
	"Used THEM?!  As if those brutes could be made to look out for anyone 
other than themselves!"
	"ENOUGH!"  Simba's roar shook the cavern, leaving all of them momentarily 
stunned.  "I will not debate this with you any longer!"  His eyes brimmed with 
tears, brought on by mingled fury and pain.  "You can think what you will, but 
this argument is getting nowhere.  We'll discuss it another time when you can 
think more clearly."
	Zira drew in a shocked breath.  "How DARE you!  Just because you haven't 
pulled the fur over my eyes, you think you can postpone it and use the others to 
work your lies on me?  Oh no, Simba," she hissed, no longer bothering with his 
title.  "No, no, this won't do.  Do you fear I might expose you for what you 
are?  A murdering fraud-"
	The lion was abruptly shouldered out of the way.  She had a glimpse of 
Sarabi, one of her eyes nearly shut from some blow suffered during the battle, 
the other filled with indignant anger.  Before she could react, the other 
lioness' paw had made contact, sending a starshine of pain along her cheek and 
brow, sending her reeling back.  She struggled for balance, but before Zira 
could do more than get her paws under her, Sarabi's weight had slammed into her, 
pinning her against the rocky wall of the cavern.  She cried out in pain as the 
rough-hewn wall dug into her fur, scraping the skin underneath.  Unable to right 
herself, she flailed desperately, her claws scoring the air bloodlessly for a 
moment before they finally found purchase and dug in.  A snarl of pain signaled 
that the blow had struck home, and Zira redoubled her efforts, twisting and 
rolling violently, her jaws snapping thoughtlessly, only seeking some purchase 
on the form before her.  She finally found it, her fangs sinking deep into 
Sarabi, so far that she nearly choked on the mouthful of blood and fur.  
Distantly, she heard the cries of the others around her, but all that mattered 
for the moment was her opponent.  Her lack of concentration on the hunt had 
nearly lost her the kill, and she did not intend to forget her mother's lessons 
again.
	Ever.
	A searing pain filled her head, and she released her hold, crying out in 
agony as a sheet of flame seemed to rip across her ear.  She felt herself being 
pulled away, the blood drizzling down the back of her head and neck as flesh 
surrendered to fang, as it always must.  A great bulk shoved her roughly aside, 
and then was gone again, the pressure vanishing.  Dimly, Zira, shook her head, 
her cry of pain at the movement echoed across the cavern by the lion who stood 
at the edge of her gaze.  Blinking rapidly, she cleared her vision and turned to 
him as he lifted his gaze to her own, and what she saw there nearly unmade her.
	"You've killed my mother," Simba said thickly, the words almost 
intelligible.  "Was that what you wanted from me?"
	Zira shook her head rapidly, panting, fighting to clear her head of the 
haze of pain.  "No..not what I...wished.  She attacked me first.  I was 
defending myself-"
	"So was I when Scar was killed."  He shook before her, looking down at the 
motionless form that lay crumpled at his paws.  "But you stand fast by the 
accusation that I am a murderer.  Very well.  I accuse you of the same crime."
	Athelia's voice broke in, shaky and fearful.  "Sire, that's not fair.  
Sarabi did attack first-"
The lion's snarl cut the argument off in mid-word, his gaze lifting again to fix 
upon Zira.  "Your own judgment is nought but your own; it's no place of mine to 
tell you what to think.  But you've violated the very laws you yourself accused 
me of breaking.  And since you hold them in such high regard, stand prepared to 
be judged by the same."
	He drew himself up, his eyes narrowed to glistening maroon slits.  "You 
are banned from my land from this day forward.  You shall be exiled outside the 
boundaries of the Pride Lands, in the nether corner beyond the gorge where it 
bounds with Nengawa's lands."
	There was a general murmur at this, and Zira recoiled, hissing in a 
breath.  "The Outlands?  I should have thought so."  The coldness fell about her 
once again, a second pelt, fell and horrible.
	"SILENCE!"  He remained locked with her gaze.  "In the interests of the 
pride, anyone who disagrees with my rule and shares your views will accompany 
you, with the one condition that I hold above all: you may not trespass upon my 
lands again, under pain of death."
	Zira smiled thinly, without humor.  "So.  Kill us quickly or kill us slow.  
Either way you finish the work you set out to accomplish when you slaughtered my 
husband."
	His face loomed before hers, the fury in his eyes clear.  "I gave your 
husband much the same chance, as I said.  He refused it.  Whether you follow him 
down that path or choose your own makes no difference to me, only choose now."
	She swallowed heavily.  "And my son?"
	"He can remain here, if you prefer..."
	"And be scorned and brainwashed?"  She curled her lip.  "I think you've 
done enough damage to my child...my children."
Simba nodded, then glanced across the cavern.  The lionesses parted, and Nuka 
came scrambling past the adults, burying his muzzle in the soft fur of Zira's 
belly.  She dipped her muzzle to nuzzle him lightly, murmuring soft words in his 
ear for a moment.  Her voice lifted in an interrogative lilt, and the cub nodded 
his head.
Zira lifted her head, her neck arched proudly despite the tattered ruin of her 
ear.  "Whatever fate we go to, we go to together."
	"Together indeed."  She felt a touch at her shoulder and glanced over in 
surprise.  Athelia stood by her, jaw trembling, but her paws were steady as they 
lay on the stone floor beside her own.  "If this is how you will rule, Sire, I 
will not stay here."
	"Nor I."  Tinabwe paced over and sat behind them, her gaze sedate and set.  
Other voices murmured assent, and Zira glanced about her at the small group that 
stood with her, plainly full of fear but willing to put the small, open space 
between themselves and Simba's pride.
	Simba's pride.  She looked upon them now, and upon him, feeling a slow 
burning kindle deep within her at their look of pity, as if they were looking 
upon fools that knew no better.  "I think we've made our choices, Simba."
	He nodded, his eyes turning as cold as the night breeze.  "You will leave 
now, even as the sun heads to her sleep.  The stars will watch you in your 
shame, though they may yet guide you to some safe place."
	One of the younger lionesses at the rear of Zira's group choked out a sob 
at this, the sound immediately muffled.  The low murmur of Athelia's voice came, 
steady and comforting, the lioness telling Nuka of some story of the elders as 
Zira led the group of them out of the cavern and into the evening air.  The rain 
had lessened slightly, finally drizzling off to a light mist that covered the 
ground below, hiding all from view in a slowly rolling mist.
	Zira set her jaw and led the way down the slope, descending into the 
rolling silver fog.  It surrounded them and dulled the sounds of the night, but 
the weeping of the others as they left their home behind came to her torn ear 
perfectly clear.  Her own eyes closed for a moment as she searched within, but 
the answer had already been given.  The world behind her was dead, and there was 
but one soul left to mourn.
	Thus Zira led them through the dark, and the mist was damp upon her cheek, 
and the ash rose around her paws and filled her mouth with the taste of bitter 
tears.
 
