I finished this chapter last night, got it back from my "editor" and made
the suggested changes this evening.  So far I've written chapters 1, 3, 4,
and 6.  I have chapter 5 about 1/4 finished (with a good idea of what is
going to happen in it) and I haven't quite got around to writing chapter 2
yet.

I hinted that I might write this thing a couple of times in the past but I
don't think anybody noticed, or took me seriously if they did.  If you don't
know what I'm talking about then you should have paid closer attention to
some of my earlier postings (so there!)

My connumdrum was thus: do I upload chapter 1 when, in essense, it's the
only chapter I have actually written (although technically I HAVE written
3-6 I can't very well post them until I write chapter 2)?  I've given the
matter some thought (and drunk a lot of coffee over it) and decided that the
answer is "yes", for a couple of reasons.

Firstly I get to post a "teaser" so that people on this list (and the
newsgroup it feeds) can see my writing style and decide if they want to read
the subsequent chapters - or decide that it's the worst bit of mindless
blather they've read since Joe Chambers posted his online sermon.  It also
gives me a chance to measure the feedback from the denizens of this list
(though that's been very scarce of late - and I've come to accept a LACK of
negative feedback as something of an endorsement).

Secondly it will pressure me into writing chapter 2 (and all the subsequent
chapters).  It would be AMOP with me to write and submit the rest of the
story after posting chapter one...

A bit of credit here to John Burkitt and Dave Morris because their COtPL was
a major inspiration for me to write this, and I also borrowed (and stole) a
lot of concepts from their work.  This story will not be entirely consistent
with their groundwork, but if you've read COtPL (and if you haven't then WHY
NOT?  Read it for goodness sake - it's a GREAT story!) then you will find
certain aspects of this story "familiar".

I should let you know, too, that this chapter really doesn't give away, or
even *hint*, at things to come in subsequent chapters.  It's really a
throw-away chapter I wrote to lay a bit of groundwork for the story.  It
could almost stand by itself - which is the final reason I decided to post
it.  Even if I never write, or post the subsequent chapters this one can
stand on its own as a "snapshot" of the state of the pridelands; a
vignette in the life of Simba if you like.

A little more rambling before I add the story... I won't tell you what my
working title is for the story as it would give away too much of the future
plot (or not - who can say).  Oh, and as the subject line of this message
suggests, this is only "revision 1" of this chapter.  I naturally reserve
the right to completely rewrite it in future revisions (just so you know :-)
 I'll post this one under the working title of:


                      First Chapter of Several
                      ------------------------

Simba arrived at Mbogorasi rock very early.  It's not that he hadn't meant
to arrive early, but he suspected that he was much earlier than he had
intended to be.  He glanced at the sun and tried to gauge its position.  The
nearest he could place the time was morning... ish.  He sighed and sought
out the shady side of the rock to lie and wait for his mate.  Long ago he'd
given up being annoyed at his inability to tell time.  Rafiki had made light
of it when he had sought him out, telling him it made him "unique".  Nala,
too, had brushed it off saying only,

"Well, dear, that's what you keep Zazu around for isn't it?  He keeps you on
time for your appointments."

The little hornbill did more than keep his appointments, he was an amazing
fount of information and tradition.  Simba entertained serious doubts about
whether he could run the kingdom without the help of the bird.  Zazu was his
eyes and ears on the kingdom, but more than that; in the past few months he
had also become a dear confidant.  When he had first ascended the throne,
Zazu had been little more than an advisor to him.  For the first few weeks
the bird had orated policy to him in the pompous voice that was his wont,
until Simba was sorely tempted to find out if hornbill tasted anything like
chicken.  But Simba quickly came to realize that Zazu knew more about
protocol, tradition, and statesmanship than anyone else in the kingdom.  The
bird never actually *told* him what to do;  one did not dictate to the king.
He left little doubt that he expected his "suggestions" to be followed,
however, and Simba was pleased to oblige.  He had come into his kingship
completely unprepared and the hornbill had shown that his small wings held
tremendous strength, for it was Zazu who carried Simba through those first
critical weeks.

Simba had just come from a meeting that Zazu had arranged with a zebra
bigshot.  He hadn't wanted to attend the function, but Zazu had stressed its
importance, and insisted that "tradition dictated" that he should attend. 
Simba had feared that the engagement might go on long enough to keep him
from his date with Nala, and the hornbill seemed to sense his impatience.

"Aiheu bless his little feathered heart," thought Simba fondly.  The bird
had come just short of rudeness in his attempts to keep the audience as
short and ceremonial as possible.  As soon as the meeting had concluded,
Zazu literally shooed the lion away with an admonishment to "stay out of
trouble this time."  Apparently the bird knew about his planned date.  He
didn't know how the bird might have found out, but there seemed to be no way
to keep secrets from the hornbill.  Not for the first time did Simba think,
"Thank goodness he's on MY side."

As he settled down into the tall grass on the shady side of the rock he
thought back again to the parley earlier that morning.  Zazu had cornered
him at Pride Rock as he was heading out to rush through his morning rounds
and had informed him of the meeting.  Simba had protested, and made clear
how pointless he thought such a thing to be.  The bird had listened to his
concerns, and then led the grumbling lion down to the waterhole for the
audience with the zebras.  When they arrived at the intended site, the
advisor quickly briefed him on a few points to remember.

"The Zebra'ha have requested this audience on a question of policy," he'd
said officiously.  "It's very important for a king to get the names right
when he meets with an ambassador, so I'd suggest you listen carefully.  You
will be meeting with Mawindo of Clan Malaji.  The traditional greeting is,
'may your hoof be as the wind'.  I daresay he is ridiculously proud of his
mane, and it wouldn't hurt to compliment him on it."  He paused for a moment
and added, "Oh, and whatever you do, don't inquire about his mate Mzoga."

"Okay," he had replied.  "Um, why not?"

"Because you ate her last week.  Hist - here he comes."

Simba felt a pang of something that bordered on guilt.  No carnivore could
truly feel guilt over eating a prey animal or he might starve, but he didn't
like to learn the names of his meals either.  When he was a cub his father
had explained that it was all simply part of the circle of life, and that
when lions died they became the grass that the prey animals ate in turn. 
He'd found the concept troubling, and wondered what cold comfort the gazelle
might get knowing the grass it was munching on was composed of dead lions. 
What was in it for the prey animals?  He'd cornered Rafiki one day after his
return from exile and posed those very words to the shaman.  Rafiki had
laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Ah, Simba, Simba," he'd said gaily.  "You are indeed a lion of conscience. 
Came to old Rafiki to justify your existence, eh?"  He'd sat and patted the
ground next to himself.  "Sit, my young king.  It is time to begin your
spiritual lessons."  The shaman launched into a sermon on how without death,
there could be no new life.

"Still," Simba had protested.  "It seems a rather harsh lot that some
creatures are born so... edible."

"Yes," Rafiki had agreed, "it is a harsh existence, but perhaps the next
time around they will return as the one who eats and not the one who is
eaten."  At first this had confused Simba, but Rafiki explained that the
essence of life was something called a "soul" that lived separate of the
physical body.  Apparently this "soul" could live many different lives
before it moved on to join the "kings of the past".

"Aiheu alone knows why one is born as a lion, or a baboon, or a rat," the
shaman explained.  "I can tell you, though, that one never comes back the
same twice.  Nor does one come back as an insect, for an insect has no soul.
Also, a lion does not return.  If one has been a good lion then one's soul
moves on to join the kings of the past."

"And if one has not been a good lion...?" prompted Simba, thinking of his
late uncle.  Rafiki had merely chuckled.

"I think YOU do not have to worry about that," was all he would say on the
subject.

Simba snuggled up against the side of the rock and gave more thought to the
concept of death and rebirth.  He wondered what he might have been in a past
life.  Unbidden came to mind the image of Zazu as something else in another
life.  He pictured the majordomo as a leopard, dragging a bloody gazelle
corpse up into a tree.  The image was both appalling and hilarious, raising
a chuckle from the lion.  He batted away a persistent fly with his tail and
again tried to judge the position of the sun.  It didn't look to have moved
very much since the first time he'd checked it and he settled himself down
for what he decided could be a rather lengthy wait.

The late morning sun baked the plains, and the heat rising from them made
them waver in Simba's vision.  He suspected that it would rain later in the
day, but that didn't give him any relief at the moment.  He panted against
the heat and pushed himself a bit further back into the shadow of the rock. 
He was just debating if he should wander over to the waterhole to cool down
when he heard the sound of approaching hooves.  He squinted through the heat
shimmers and saw a small herd of zebra approaching.

He knew immediately that the zebra didn't know he was there.  Between his
lying motionless in the shadow, and the breeze - such as it was - blowing
toward him, they were oblivious to the carnivore lying in their path.  He
watched them approach and judged that they would pass very near the rock,
near enough to be in easy striking distance.  Simba was no slouch at
hunting; he'd kept himself and two friends well-fed during his years of
exile.  He spied a lone zebra who had lagged slightly behind the herd, and
planned an angle of approach.  It would be a trivial kill; two bounds and a
leap.  He could snap its neck before it even knew it was dead.  He waited
until it was almost in the optimal striking range, and then politely
coughed.  He wasn't particularly hungry, and it was the lionesses job to do
the hunting in any case.

The zebras panicked and reared, but Simba was well outside of kicking
distance.  He'd purposely warned them of his presence before they got within
the kicking zone.  A zebra had kicked him when he was a less experienced
hunter, and it hadn't been much fun.  He'd been lucky enough to only sustain
a bad bruise from the kick, but it had taught him an important lesson in
caution.  The zebras calmed when they recognized the king, and they nodded
their heads in deference as they moved away to a safer distance.  Simba
posed little threat to them without the element of surprise.  He watched
them depart, casting nervous glances his way over their shoulders as they
left.  He didn't recognize the clan, but they seemed to know him so he
decided they must be one of the herds that lived primarily within his lands.

In the blithe hope that the encounter had taken more time than it seemed, he
checked the sun again, but it had stubbornly refused to move since the last
time he had looked.  He moaned, lay his head on his paws and shut his eyes.

"Nala, please be early," he groused aloud, but the only reply was the buzz
of the late-morning flies.

End of chapter One.

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