Simba padded along the path slowly, Nala’s weight resting pleasurably on his shoulder as they walked. A contented purr continued to rumble through her chest, and he echoed it as he nuzzled her behind her ear. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
“Yes.” She giggled and kissed him on the cheek. “But thank you for saying so.” She studied his face in profile as they threaded their way through some dense greenery. His face was so gentle, like his mother’s, and the set of his jaw and the slight smile brought back memories of Mufasa. But his eyes...oh gods, his eyes...her smile faded as she looked at him. Simba was studying the waterfall that lay across the valley from them, his smile forgotten, almost an afterthought, now. The deep mask of sadness that she had glimpsed at the pool had returned full force. The amber eyes that the other lionesses had commented on in his cubhood were so empty and devoid of feeling that it made her shiver. And the worst of it was, there was still something left in there, buried deep down. She had seen it back there when she first kissed him. Her old friend was still in there, in that well of sadness, and she wondered if she might ever bring him to the light of day again.
Her jaw quivering, she buried her head in his mane, unwilling to let him see the tears that threatened to burst forth.
Simba glanced down at her, his smile returning somewhat. “Isn’t this a great place?”
Nala took a deep breath and raised her head, giving the scenery a perfunctory glance. “It is beautiful,” she conceded finally. “But I don’t understand something.” She looked at him quizzically. “You’ve been alive all this time..why didn’t you come back to Pride Rock?”
Simba fidgeted nervously. “Well...” He padded over to a tangled mat of vines that swayed gently in the evening breeze. He eased himself into its firm embrace, sprawling on his back comfortably. “Well, I just..needed to get out on my own. Live my own life. And I did, and it’s great!” He peered at her earnestly.
Nala’s voice shook noticeably. “We’ve really needed you at home,” she said.
Simba’s expression crumpled and he looked away. “No one needs me.”
Gods, what was wrong with him?! “Yes, we do! You’re the king!”
“Nala, we’ve been through this,” he said testily. “I’m not the king; Scar is.” “And well he should be,” Simba thought to himself. The monarchy was no place for a murderer, and his uncle had wisely pointed this out in the gorge. Simba had no choice but to agree to his self imposed exile. Technically, it would have been well within his uncle’s right to have him killed for Mufasa’s death. Yet he had shown mercy on his nephew and allowed him to leave untouched. With such a wise and merciful king, the Pride Lands were better off under his uncle’s supervision.
At least, he thought so, until Nala informed him of the hyannic takeover of his homeland. He stared at her disbelievingly. “What?!”
“There’s no food, no water...Simba, if you don’t do something soon, everyone will starve!”
As he opened his mouth to answer, a chill brushed him, and he shivered. He looked away from her, the depression filling him, his spirit sagging with guilt. “I can’t go back.”
“Why?!”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“WHAT wouldn’t I understand?!”
“No, no, no.” He waved her off irritably. “It doesn’t matter. Hakuna Matata.”
“What?” Nala’s face twisted in confusion.
“Hakuna Matata. It’s something I learned out here.” He leapt lightly upon a fallen tree and looked at her. “Look,” he said, eager for her to understand, “sometimes bad things happen-”
“Simba!” Nala lashed her tail in frustration.
“-and there’s nothing you can do about it,” he grated, irritated at her interruption. “So why worry?” He looked away and paced agitatedly along the length of the tree.
Nala followed alongside. The anger and frustration came to a head, and she lashed at him with full force. “Because it’s your responsibility!!” Sweet Aiehu, why didn’t he see it?
Simba came to a stop and glanced at her angrily. “So what about you? YOU left!”
“I left to find help!” she shot back, incensed. “And I found YOU. Don’t you understand?!” Her voice trembled on the edge of tears. “You’re our only hope.”
Simba closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her. “Sorry.”
Nala drew back and peered at him with narrowed eyes. “What’s happened to you?” She shook her head. “You’re not the Simba I remember.”
“You’re right. I’m not,” he said, clipping his words off brutally. “NOW are you satisfied?”
“No. Just disappointed.”
He started away, shoulders stiff with anger. “You’re starting to sound like my father.”
A tingle ran through Nala, and the words escaped unbidden. “Good. At least ONE of us does.” She put a paw to her mouth, horrified at what she had said.
Simba froze, the lethargic feeling ripped away as her words tore through him. He spun around and advanced on her. “Look! You think you can just come in here and tell me how to run my life?! You don't even know what I’ve BEEN through!”
“I would if you’d just tell me!” She moved to go to him, but he whirled and plunged through the underbrush, heedless of the sharp branches that tore at him.
“Forget it!” He padded away quickly, unwilling to let her see the tears in his eyes.
“Fine!” Nala turned away, stung, angry at herself for letting him get away. She walked morosely over to the fallen log and leapt upon it, settling herself atop the old wood. Her tail moved restlessly as she mulled over their conversation, berating herself for lashing out at him like that. At a loss, she laid her head upon her forepaws, gazing out across the river valley. The sound of the waterfall was lulling, and she blinked her eyes sleepily as she watched the sparkling torrent fall through the air to crash on the rocks below. Soon she was dozing softly, the soft white light of the moon bathing her golden form in unearthly beauty.
In the underbrush across from her, the light gleamed from twin points of amber fire. The random edges of the leaves and branches shifted in the night breezes and gave form to a finely chiseled face that peered intrestedly at the sleeping lioness. Mano sighed and slipped from the undergrowth, the pure white fur of his body gleaming like a fallen star as he padded noiselessly over to where Nala lay.
He leaned over her, listening to her murmur uneasily in her sleep, reading her troubled thoughts. He pursed his lips and blew gently in her face, the scent of wild honey clinging to her fur as he watched her features relax and smooth out.
“Sleep, child. You have done well. It’s up to him, now.” He lay down beside her, his mane shifting in an unseen breeze as he looked far to the east, where Pride Rock lay. He thought of the unspeakable horror that lay nestled there, and his features hardened into a grim mask of determination.
“And you, old one, are now on borrowed time.”