*************************
                              CHAPTER TWO:
                             Fire Meets Fire
                        *************************

     Simba intuitively knew that something was wrong.

     It was a peaceful night, but for some reason, tonight was
different from all the other nights he had seen. It wasn't
something that he could put his paw on, but he could feel it in
the air. Something was happening, or was going to happen, and the
unnatural quietness of the jungle seemed to echo his disquiet. At
this time of night, the air should be filled with the sounds of
insects and animal calls. But, instead, it was utterly quiet.
Silence in the jungle only meant that danger was near.

     "Who is out there?" Simba murmured to himself in wonder,
craning his head into the darkness here and there. 

     He had been travelling along a deserted jungle path that led
to a nearby waterhole, his mind consumed by thought when he had
suddenly realized that the jungle was so quiet. He then stood
utterly still, listening, allowing whatever was out there to come
to him. 

     From somewhere behind Simba, a twig snapped loudly. His ears
twitched in response, and he turned his heard to peer curiously
into the dark undergrowth. There was nothing there, except for
the sound of air rushing between the darkened trees and branches
as they swayed in the night wind. Simba was in the motion of
turning back, when he heard yet another twig snap, accompanied by
a low growl that rolled out from the darkness of the jungle.

     Simba froze. His pulse suddenly quickened, and his body
tensed instinctively, his eyes searching for danger. There *was*
something out there! Something was coming. Suddenly, he regretted
that he hadn't taken the fighting lessons that Timon had been
trying to teach him more seriously.
     
     His body tensed, like a coiled spring, and with teeth
gritted in dread, Simba stared into the thick darkness ahead. As
he did so, there was a succession of deep-throated, angry grunts.
There was a flash in the undergrowth, a shadow moved quickly, and
Simba drew his breath in suddenly as he briefly glimpsed a pair
of eyes glittering in the minute moonlight, watching him watching
it. The sounds of crashing in the undergrowth rose into the air.
The creature, whatever it was, was making its way toward the
trail where the lion stood petrified. All Simba could see was the
undergrowth being violently agitated in a direct line for him.
     
     Simba growled in response and backed away as he saw the head
and shoulders of a leopard appear out of the bushes a few feet
away. 

     The attacker was a mother, a female leopard, who had just
given birth to a litter of three tiny cubs that were in a nearby
den. At this stage of their lives, being only a few days old,
they were at their most helpless and, likewise, the mother
leopard was at her most dangerous. Being unable to see, the cubs
were forced to remain in the security of the den along with the
mother leopard who became a committed, caring and ruthlessly
protective mother. She treated any creature that wandered nearby
with extreme suspicion, and if it were an animal that could pose
a threat to her young, she moved to neutralize that threat
aggressively.

     The lion had wandered close, too close for the mother's
liking, and she had decided to rectify the problem. She stepped
out of the jungle and onto the path, circling the much larger
cat, growling with all the ferocity she could summon. Simba
tensed, holding his ground, prepared to match any move that the
female leopard might make.

     The leopard hesitated, her yellow eyes narrowing. She had
lost the advantage of surprise. "Go away, lion!" she hissed with
a voice that had the texture of rough gravel. "You're not welcome
here!"

     "Geez," Simba muttered, unnerved at the rage in her eyes.
"You got off on the wrong side of your tree this morning, didn't
you? Why don't you just ask me nicely?" 

     "Where my cubs are concerned, I don't ask: I demand!" she
snarled, then the leopard, whose maternal instincts were pushing
her to do the unthinkable, came at him. It moved with frightening
speed, faster than any lion who had ever lived, and it attacked
with unbridled ferocity. 

     "What---" Simba began, already rearing back defensively.

     The growled words that the leopard hurled at him were
incomprehensible, then Simba's vision exploded into stars as the
cat's heavy paw crashed into the side of his head. Simba grunted
in surprise as he reeled back stunned, the world suddenly gone
dim and hazy. There was no time for Simba to react, for the
experienced leopard wouldn't allow him to gain the advantage. She
knew full well, being half the size and strength of Simba, that
her larger foe would eventually defeat her if she allowed him to
recover. 

     Then, as she paused to gather the strength that would tumble
the dazed lion from his position on the path, a roar rose into
the air. It was a roar such as the jungle had never heard before,
which gyred up into the winds, and echoed down through the
valley, and put fear into the hearts of whoever heard it.

     "Huh?!" the leopard gasped, eyes widened, turning her head.

     That was all she said before a tawny missile came bursting
out of the jungle wall and smashed into her. There was flash of
glistening claws, of moonlight gleaming off yellowed canines.
Then they met in the air with a frightening bone-jarring titanic
crash, and the creature who was much larger than the leopard,
picked her easily up in its arms. The mother leopard growled,
twisting around, tackling her attacker, and both of them fell
backwards. Snapping trees like sticks and crushing the
vegetation, the two crashed through the jungle wall and out of
sight.
     
     It all happened in an instant, and being obscured in the dim
moonlight, the surprised Simba wasn't sure exactly what he had
seen. He rushed to the devastated opening in the jungle wall and
looked.

     For the leopard, doubled over in pain, the fight was over.
When the creature had leapt from the jungle, a heavy paw had
connected with her side, and something had snapped inside her
with a dull sound. That she had lost did not matter, for she had
done what she came to do. As for the lion, she knew that he
wouldn't dare approach her den, or she would finish what she
started. With one final glare at Simba, who returned the gaze
with a shocked expression, she limped quickly away into the
darkness, wisely seeing that the odds were stacked against her. 

     The creature had not landed, as it expected, on dry ground,
but instead on a soft layer of water and dirt in which it had
immediately sunk.

     "What?!" it said in an astonished voice, instinctively
spreading out limbs to slow down its sinking into the mire.

     As hard as Simba tried to, he couldn't tell what kind of
animal his savior was. All that he knew was that the scent it
left in the air was cat-like, although one that was considerably
different from what he would expect of a jungle or savanna-going
feline.

     The cat had landed in a peat bog, and it splashed its
trapped body about in the muck and mud in an seemingly futile
attempt to escape. But Simba could see that it was too large, too
heavy, and its strength too little, for it to escape by itself.
The cat, now completely covered in the brownish muck of the pool,
would eventually lose to the forces that were sucking it down. It
had sunk up to it shoulders already, and the remainder of its
body was quickly disappearing beneath the surface. Suddenly it
halted, remaining perfectly still, not even daring to twitch a
muscle, perhaps realizing that the more it fought, the faster it
would sink. 

     Their eyes connected across the clearing, and the yeloow-
green eyes of the other narrowed. Simba's keen ears heard its
breath being drawn in suddenly and quickly, as if in surprise.

     Now, Simba knew that peat bogs were extremely rare in this
jungle, and he thought that Timon and Pumbaa had shown him them
all, warning him of their danger. But this was one that they had
all missed. Staring at the trapped cat, Simba suddenly understood
why the leopard had even dared to attack him. She had hoped to
push him or drive him off the path, into the peat bog, thus
finishing an adversary that was too powerful for her to take on
directly. He shuddered. Death had brushed him by, and he hadn't
even known it.

     "You've fallen into a peat bog!" exclaimed Simba.

     "Gee," the other replied sarcastically. "Thanks for the
update!"

     "How'd you manage do that?!"

     "I would love to continue this conversation," The cat
answered, shaking its head to dislodge the mud that was seeping
into its eyes. "But it is not exactly the most important thing on
my mind! Now, will you help me or not?"
 
     "Ok, well, I'll go get some help---" Simba began, his
thoughts turning to what Timon and Pumbaa would make of this.

     "You do that," The creature snapped, slapping a paw on the
surface of the pool to get Simba's attention. "And you better
bring back some flowers, because you'll be throwing them on my
grave!" 

     "Alright!" Simba responded, pacing back and forth at the
edge of the pool, his mind churning violently. "I'll help you. 
Just wait. I'll think of something!" 

     "Think faster!" 

     Simba disappeared into the undergrowth, and the creature 
gasped as he slid down another inch into the muck. Simba quickly
returned, walking to the very edge of the quicksand pool, and the
cat looked eagerly up.

     Then it saw what Simba had brought, and it closed its eyes
in disbelief, asking, "Don't you think you could have been a
little more creative?"

     "Well, excuse me!" Simba mumbled around the jungle vine
hanging in his jaws. "It's the best I can do---"

     "Okay!" the creature's gasp interrupted Simba when he slid
down until only his neck and the muck-covered head were visible.
"It's fine! It's great! If you're going to help me, hurry up!"
     
     Simba grunted in response, then with a sharp jerk of his
head, threw the vine into the pool, leaving a few feet tightly
gripped inside his mouth. The green vine landed on top of the
surface then began to slowly sink out of sight. It was the cat's
last hope, for Simba did not have enough time remaining to gather
the vine in and cast it out again.

     Glaring at the vine, which was just out of reach, the
creature seemed to realize the same thing since it mumbled an
expletive so vile that even Simba flinched. 

     Then with a strength beyond its own, a strength born out of
desperation, the creature surged forward. Brownish muck rose into
the air, splattering on the lion waiting on the shore, and Simba
flinched instinctively. When he looked back, the surface of the
peat bog was smooth and calm. Both the cat and the length of vine
that Simba had thrown out had disappeared.

     For several seconds everything was calm, the settling
surface was unbroken, with only the sounds of birds twittering
and animals calling in the in the distance to break the silence.
Then the vine tugged powerfully, and the surprised Simba was very
nearly pulled into the pool. Setting his paws down on the ground,
digging his claws into the earth for purchase, Simba gritted his
teeth around the vine and began to slowly back up.

     The cat was much heavier that it looked, and the muck
clinging to its fur made it much more ponderous. Straining for
the next few minutes with every muscle in his body, Simba pulled
the immense bulk of the creature out of the pool. Slowly, the
head emerged, vine caught between the jaws, nose snorting out the
muck that had filled it. Then the shoulders, followed by the rest
of the body, and the cat managed to get its paws on dry land.
Assuring itself that it had indeed reached solid ground, it
released the vine, causing Simba to grunt and step back in
surprise as the taunt vine suddenly went loose. With a final
groan of exhaustion, the muck-covered cat pulled itself
completely out of the pool and, abandoning all sense of dignity.
collapsed on the ground. 

     For a while, it lay on its back, its four legs in the air,
tail twitching weakly on the ground. Simba also relaxed,
listening to the harsh raspy breathing that told him the cat was
still alive. Then it moved, rolling onto its stomach, and glared
at Simba.

     "You saved my life." It said.

     "And I think you saved mine as well." Simba replied, unsure
of what else to say. "I guess that makes us even, doesn't it?"

     The cat chuckled in response, then sighed as it looked down
at itself. Its magnificent coat was in ruins, and all because it
had allowed itself to be tricked by a leopard, but the damage
incurred was nothing more than a bruised pride. The muck-covered
cat sighed again, raising its head to silently regard Simba. "You
don't know what I am, do you?"

     "I'm not sure." Simba admitted. He couldn't see under the
muck, but he had seen the slitted-eyes, claws, and long tail that
were characteristic of the great cats. He had thought that
perhaps he was saving a leopard, or perhaps even another lion,
but he couldn't be sure because its hide was matted and filthy,
and the muck obliterated the identifying marks that all cats
wore. However, the scent that reached Simba's sensitive nostrils,
despite being masked somewhat by the stench of the peat bog, was
one unlike any other that he had scented before. The mystery of
deepened and grew, as did Simba's curiosity. 

     "Well," the cat said, rising and glancing around at the
undergrowth. "There is water nearby, I should think. Could you
indicate the direction?" The cat had also noticed that Simba had
been staring at him, and it chuckled quietly as it added, "And
once I get this disgusting muck off my hide, you can satisfy your
curiosity!"

      Simba gestured in a direction with his head. "If you don't
mind me asking," he said, moving alongside the larger cat. "Why
are you here?"

     "I am Seeking." was the answer.

     "Seeking?" Simba repeated the word, confused. "Seeking
what?"

     The cat muttered something that Simba could not quite
catch, and it moved in the indicated direction toward the clean
water. His curiosity piqued by the strange visitor to the jungle,
Simba followed.

                *     *     *     *     *     *

     The tiger emerged from the waterhole, shaking its aged body
to remove the water that was running down his newly-cleaned hide.

     Simba watched in wordless fascination. He had seen many
things in his three years, but he had never seen an animal quite
like this one. The cat was feline, like himself, but much heavier
and larger, possessing fur, four legs, a tail, and feline
facial features; but there the similarities ended. The cats of
both the savanna and jungle possessed some type of coat marking,
differing greatly from one individual to another in arrangement,
but the markings were universally spots. The jaguars, rarely seen
in the jungle, leopards, cheetahs, and even the lions if one
looked carefully at their hides under the right light, possessed
the spots that indicated that they were one people.

     But Simba was faced with a cat that he had never seen
before, a cat that possessed not spots, but stripes.

     Powerful, elusive and mysterious, little was known of the
tigers, for they ventured into Pridelands perhaps once in a
hundred years, hailing from their frigid snow-locked lands far to
the north where no lion dared go. Simba had heard stories of
these cats from his father, but like all youngsters, he had
assumed that they were myth. But it seemed that the old stories
were true! But...if that were so, then could the other stories
that his father told him also be true?

     Realizing the consternation that his appearance was causing
Simba, the old tiger sat down as he glanced curiously at Simba,
flicking drops of water from his whiskers. He wasn't surprised at
the lion's reaction, for he knew that he was a legend come to
life before the lion's very eyes.

     "So," the tiger spoke first, shaking his head free of
remaining the water clinging to his fur. "To whom do I have the
honor of owing my life?"

     "Uh...Simba," answered Simba, startled, as if awakening from
a dream. "My name's Simba."

     "Simba, hmm?" the tiger muttered, shaking one leg then
another, before settling down on his stomach and scrutinizing the
lion before him with a bemused expression. "How original, I must
say!"

     "I'm not the one who picked my name, so don't get on my
case...um, what was your name again?"

     "I don't recall giving my name to you, Simba," the old tiger
chuckled. "But if you must know, you may call me Kublia."

     "Kublia." Simba repeated the strange name. It sounded
outlandish, but seemed to fit its equally outlandish owner.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, I guess."

     "Ah, that feeling is mutual, my friend!" the tiger chuckled,
tilting his head at Simba. "I did not think that the leopard
would trick me in such a way, and I do not know what I would have
done if you hadn't done what you did. I fear that my eyes and
legs are not as sure as they used to be! But, before we continue,
I must ask you: why save an old tiger like myself?"

     "I dunno," Simba shrugged, also settling himself down near
the tiger. "Why not?"

     "Altruism doesn't apply here, Simba."

     "Al---what?" Simba shook his head, confused.

     The old tiger tried a different track. "It is counter-
productive to save someone like me, Simba. I am a tiger. And a
tiger is a creature that could potentially take your prey, your
land, perhaps even your life. My death would have only served to
reduce your competition in this jungle. Now, I ask you again: why
save an old tiger?"

     "I don't know!" Simba answered uncertainly, slightly annoyed
at the question. "Maybe its because I'm sick and tired of
standing by and watching while others die for no reason."

     "Then, I must guess that you acted the way you did, because
at one time you were unable to prevent the death of another?"

     "What---" Simba stopped himself, then glared at Kublia. "Who
are you, really?"

     "Nothing:" Kublia replied, a crafty look in his narrowed
eyes. "But an old tiger with many foolish ideas in his head."

     "Where are you from?" Simba asked the tiger, now curious.

     "The land of my birth?" The tiger replied, shrugging,
glancing lazily into the distance. "It is a distant land, far
beyond the horizon. I have not walked upon it, nor smelled its
sweet fragrances, nor seen it with my own eyes in many, many
years."

     "You said that you were Seeking."

     "I said that, didn't I?"

     "What is that?"

     "It---" The tiger hesitated. "It is difficult to put into
words. Simply put, it is an...instinct that my people possess.
Only a few can be taught how to employ it properly, and even
fewer have the ability inborn. The best way that I can describe
it is that it is the looking for that which was once lost, yet
can be found again." 

     "So," said Simba, thinking that he understood. "You are
looking for a new home?"

     "I am a wanderer." the aged tiger replied, as if it
explained everything. In a way, it did.

     "Then, you have no home?"

     "My home is where I make it. The dirt beneath my feet is my
floor. The sky is my ceiling, the stars my family. The walls of
the horizon are the walls of my cave. The entire world is my
home, Simba." 

     "You must get lonely sometimes." Simba commented.

     "Sometimes." The old tiger admitted with a shake of his
head. "We tigers keep to ourselves, Simba, unlike your own
people. What is a young lion like you doing out here all by
himself?"

     "Oh, I have friends. They keep me busy...mostly."

     "Other lions?" Kublia asked curiously.  

     "No," Simba smiled quietly. "They are not what you would
expect them to be."

     "Ah," The tiger raised an eyebrow, "The warthog and
meerkat?"

     "Why, yes---" Simba glanced at the tiger suspiciously.
"How'd you know that?"

     "I was there when you spoke to them, a short while ago,
watching them watching me. Sharp one, that meerkat. He knew that
I was there."

     "You were following me!" Simba exclaimed, pointing a paw
accusingly at the tiger.

     "I was merely curious." The tiger retorted. "It is not often
that I see a lion so far from his home."

     "This is my home!" Simba snapped angrily.

     "Odd," The old tiger glanced at Simba, then looked. "For I
know that your people live in prides. Yet, I also know that you
are the only lion in this jungle. Why is that so?"

     Simba hesitated, staring at the old tiger with some wonder.
He had decided not to say anything more than necessary, but when
Kublia had spoken the last sentence, all of his determination and
self-resolve fell away leaving him with the feeling that he could
absolutely trust this stranger that he had never met before in
his life. How, Simba wondered, could the old tiger manipulate him
in such a way? 

     "I'm an outcast." Simba answered, not sure of what else to
say.

     "An outcast, you say?" the tiger responded, seemingly
disinterested.

     "A long time ago, I did something terrible." The lion
explained, bowing his head as he looked away from the tiger. "So
terrible that I ran away from the Pride of my cub-hood. How could
I stay to the....questions? To the...blame? To the answers that I
dreaded to give? I regretted what I did on that day, and I have
done so for every day thereafter."

     "Ah, I see!" the tiger murmured in understanding. "And how
did it come to pass that you are what you are?"

     "If I told you, you wouldn't understand," responded Simba,
shaking his head. 

     "Try me."

     "I said no one would understand!" Simba snapped, leaping up
and walking to the edge of the waterhole. There the lion paused
and stared at his own reflection sadly.

     Kublia stared thoughtfully at the lion for a moment, then
said quietly. "I might understand, Simba; more than you could
know."

     "How could you possibly know what I've been through?!" Simba
glanced upwards and back to Kublia in surprise.

     "From personal experience."

     "You've never been through what I am going through now!"

     "Do not judge me by that which you don't know, Simba,
because I have!" The hissed response caused Simba's anger to
suddenly drain away, and he looked at Kublia, suprised by the
sudden emotion in the other's voice.

     The moon shone down on the old tiger, making him look
shadowy and ghost-like in the silver half-light. Kublia had
pulled himself up to his full height, staring at Simba, his eyes
luminous in the dark. The years melted away from the tiger, and
he was suddenly transformed from a weak, old tiger to a powerful
charismatic, awe-inspiring presence. The awed Simba respected,
perhaps even feared, the old tiger's knowledge and ability,
which surpassed his own meager talents by far. 

     "Simba, I have a story to tell you, so listen well." Kublia
began, speaking in a strong voice. "I was once as you were.
Young, optimistic, without a care in the world. I had a mate, had
a territory, and I had fathered cubs. I was happy, alive, and
content. Then, came the day, when out of my siblings, I alone was
chosen by my father to be a Seeker, as was my father was before
me. It was my Destiny."

     "What happened?" The entranced Simba prompted the tiger
after Kublia had paused for a moment. 

     "Briefly;" Kublia sighed sadly, closing his eyes. "The
knowledge of what it was to be a Seeker was coveted by my
siblings, those that wanted that which they could not have. When
our father picked me, they engineered my downfall and tried to
have me killed. I lost my cubs, my mate, my land. I lost
everything. I was suddenly all alone in the world, a transient
learning to live again." 

     "It must have been terrible for you." Simba murmured in
sympathy.

     "Oh, it was." Kublia opened his eyes and looked at Simba. "I
was filled with anger at the family that had betrayed me, ridden
with guilt that I had caused the deaths of those I loved,
saturated with hatred at this knowledge that had been the cause
of all my suffering. I hated it. I wanted nothing to do with it
anymore. I left my homeland and wandered...drifted without
purpose...for many years. By purposely neglecting my Destiny, I
became a shadow of what I once was. I might as well as been
dead."

     "But," Simba replied. "You are a Seeker now, aren't you?"

     Kublia nodded. "It was ten years later, when I met a wise
baboon, that I finally realized the enormity of my mistake. You
see, Simba, in shirking my duty to my profession, believing that
it had betrayed me, I had in fact betrayed *it*. And by not going
on with my own life after the death of my family, by drifting
into oblivion, I had made it so that they had died for absolutely
nothing."

     "And so you became a Seeker again?"

     The tiger nodded. "I said my farewells to the ghosts of
those I loved, turned my eyes to the future, and set out to
become what I became. For setting me on the path that I had
forsaken for so long, I owed that baboon a debt of gratitude that
I still owe him to this day. For it was with his help, that I
realized my mistakes, and overcame them."

     Simba was shaking his head. "But I what I did---"

     "What you've done," The tiger quietly interjected. "Is
something so terrible, that you refuse to even speak about it.
And the memory of that will be with you for a long time, Simba. A
long time. But you'll have to learn to live with it, turn that
tragedy into a triumph, and go on towards your Destiny."

     Simba was staring curiously at the tiger, as if he was
seeing someone different. Kublia glanced around at the jungle,
his yellow eyes roving over the green trees, then fell back to
the lion.

     "Look at yourself Simba. You do not belong here, hidden
within this dark jungle of vines and tangles. You belong with
others of your kind, in the golden grasses of the Pridelands."

     "The Pridelands?" Simba said the word in surprise, stumbling
over the syllables. "You know where I came from?!"

     "I do now." The tiger smiled.

     Simba flushed, looking away, and Kublia continued. "It is
in the Pridelands that you will find your Destiny, Simba, but
*only* if you're lion enough to reach out and touch it! Remain
here, you will stagnate, and the longer you linger here, the
further from your Destiny you will float. Remain here long
enough, your Destiny will fall so far from you, that you will
never rise and take hold of that greatness that was set down for
you the day you were born."  

     Simba was staring strangely at the tiger. "You sound like
someone that I once knew, Kublia. Who are you?"

     "I told you once before, and I'll tell you again: I am
merely an old tiger with many foolish ideas in his head."

     "What do you think I should do?"

     "Now *that*, Simba," the old tiger replied, craning his neck
to stare up toward the lightening nighttime sky. "Is something
you're going to have to decide for yourself."

     Simba also raised his head, and saw that the fiery sparkle
of the stars had faded to a cold faraway gleam in the coming
light of the dawn. Above them, the two watched as the stars spun 
in silver wreaths through the expanse of space, twirls of cold
light dancing in frostlike patterns against velvet blackness that
was slowly turning to white with the coming light.

     "My father once said," Simba suddenly said, after a brief
silence, rising from the ground on all four legs to stare sadly
at the disappearing stars. "That all the Kings of the past are up
there, watching over us."

     "Oh, really?" the voice replied quietly, then asked. "They
live in the stars themselves?"

     "Well, no," Simba hesitated. "I think that they *are* the
stars."

     "Fascinating."

     A flash of light flickered in the corner of Simba's vision,
and he curiously craned his head toward it. There, wreathed in a
halo of silver and white light, a line of fire stretched toward
the horizon then vanished. Simba blinked in surprise: it had
occurred so quickly that he was unsure of what he had seen.

     "It seems, then," Kublia's voice spoke quietly behind him.
"That the time has arrived for even the stars themselves to fall
from their invincible thrones in the sky." 

     Simba turned, a retort on his lips, and his eyes met only
empty air. He glanced around in sudden surprise. The tiger had
completely vanished into thin air! Sitting in the clearing,
hearing only the sound of the wind rushing through the trees, a
puzzled Simba stared wordlessly into the distance, Kublia's last
words ringing in his mind.

                *     *     *     *     *     *

     "Hakuna Matata!" the warthog exclaimed excitedly, pointing
in a direction with one of his hooves. "There he is, Timon!"

     "Oh, there you are!" The meerkat exclaimed in relief,
bounding in front of Pumbaa as he watched the lion emerge from
the undergrowth of the jungle. "We've been looking for you all
morning, Simba! Where've you been?!"

     Simba merely lifted his head, glanced at Timon with sad
eyes, and wordlessly walked past him.

     "Geez," the meerkat muttered to his equally mystified
companion, rubbing his head in bewilderment as the lion swept
past him. "What's with him?"

     "I dunno, Timon." The warthog answered, twitching his long
tail. "Hey, maybe he ate some of those leaves I told him about!"
     
     "Well, whatever it is," Timon shrugged. "I'm sure that he'll
get over it soon enough. We'll talk to him after we grab some
grub, and speaking of leaves, I hear that there are some ripe
pickings by the acacia trees down by the plains!"

     "Sounds good to me, Timon!" the warthog beamed, and Timon
jumped nimbly onto Pumbaa's head, hands on the floppy ears to
keep him steady as they moved.

     They glanced at Simba, perhaps with the idea of inviting him
along on their little excursion, then halted as they saw the
motionless form of the lion asleep on the ground.

     "Humph!" Timon snorted. "He's sleeping! He's always
sleeping. Doesn't he know this is a jungle we're in?" His face
brightened as he remembered something. "Say, Pumbaa, how does
that song go?"

     "What song, Timon?" the warthog glanced up at his tiny
friend who was prancing back and forth on his head.

     "Y'know! The song." The meerkat swung its arms to punctuate
each syllable of the verse. "Hmmmm---Hm!---Hm-hm! Hm!--Hm-hm!-
Hm!-Hm!--c'mon, Pumbaa! You know this!"

     Pumbaa's eyes had widened, recognizing what the meerkat had
been getting at, and he was humming in time with meerkat's words.

     "In the Jungle, the mighty Jungle---" Timon began.

     "Akeema-wep! Akeema-wep! Akeema-wep!" Pumbaa said between
Timon's words.

     "---the lion sleeps tonnnniiiighttt!"

     "Akeema-wep! Akeema-wep! Akeema-wep!"

     Simba opened his eyes and smiled as he heard the voices of
the musical duo fading into the distance. 

     His thoughts turned to the old tiger that had called himself
Kublia, and what they had spoken of together. When Simba had
watched the old tiger talk, the gentle moonlight falling all
around him, he had seemed...so ancient, so wise. It was almost as
if Kublia had been the first cat that had ever walked the earth.
Simba wondered that, if he lived as long as the tiger had, would
he ever know all that Kublia did?

     Simba yawned tiredly, lounging on his back on the cool
jungle grass. He wanted to just lie back and relax in the lazy,
steamy atmosphere of the jungle. The memory of his meeting with
the strange tiger was already receding into the distant past, and
he decided to put it entirely from his mind. He sluggishly
made a mental note to eventually get back to it someday, and
rolled onto his stomach, lazily gazing about to find something of
interest. 

     As there was a sudden flash of white in the undergrowth
before him, Simba's eyes widened in recognition, and his pulse
quickened. Breath catching in his throat, he saw the sun gleaming
off a faded, striped hide, and pair of yellow eyes danced among
the trees, staring disappointedly back at him. 

     Simba blinked in surprise. The image vanished. There was
nothing around him, except for the trees of the jungle and the
reflective dew glinting off their leaves. The lion sighed in
relief; it must have been only a trick of light and shadow. 

     His mind wandered again, and as it usually did whenever he
rested, his thoughts turned lazily to that of Nala, his childhood
companion. As he laid back on a soft cushion of green grass, he
idly wondered what she was doing at this exact minute, and
allowed his mind to slowly drift off into the relaxation that
befitted those that followed the path of Hakuna Matata.