Fabana overheard Rafiki's exultant shout and rushed in to see the mandrill capering about, chuckling and dancing, Krull sitting across from him and grinning widely. “What is going on, here?!”
Rafiki whooped and danced over to her. “Look!” he said, holding up a handful of milkweed floss and dust. “Just look at it!” He held it up to her face for close inspection.
She exploded in a sneeze, sending him into more gales of laughter. “What’s so great about a handful of dust?”
“It is the sign! Simba is alive!”
Rafiki uas unknowing of the shock his words had on the hyena, for Fabana had been at the ceremony when Taka took power. She had heard the lament issue from his own lips of the death of his brother; she had heard the grief in his voice as he described the lifeless body of his nephew lying next to him. And now...she shook her head, eyes growing wide as she heard Rafiki exclaim to the newly named Uhuru: “We go to the King!”
Her protestations went unheeded, and when the two eluded their hyena guardians and set out to find the rightful king, she accompanied them determinedly. If she could not change their minds, she would change Simba’s.
The going was slow and tortuous, as none of the three were prepared for the rigors the desert threw at them. The scorching heat compelled them to take shelter in the daytime, and this provided ample time for thinking. Too much time for one particular hyena. Fabana agonized endlessly over the elegy Taka had given for his brother and son. He had been sincere; she would have sworn it. That foolish ape must have misread the signs in the floss, if there were indeed any there to be had in the first place.
As they trekked on, the knowledge beat at her as harshly as the desert heat. Why lie to her? She had heard him praying at night, begging the gods to forgive Taka, forgive. She had seen the paintings on the wall of the baobab of the cub, and, while ignorant of the markings around it, had understood their meaning clearly enough. The mandrill practically viewed Taka as one of his own family. The knowledge beat at her like a hammer, and finally, unable to stand it any longer, she went to Uhuru.
He listened, a grave but sympathetic look on his face. “So what do you want to do?” he said at last.
“I don't know.” She bent her head, looking at the ground. “But if what he says is true, then my child has sinned teribly. When Mother Rroh’kash calls him to her, there will be a reckoning.” Her breath hitched.
Uhuru patted her consolingly. “Don't despair. I have spoken to Rafiki, and the son of Mufasa promises to be a just and kind soul. I will stand with you, Fabana, and plead Taka’s case with you. Perhaps together, we can convince Simba to find forgiveness. He is a child of Aiheu, after all.”
“Thank you!” Fabana nuzzled him. “By the gods, my boy may be lost, but he will find his way again. He must.”