Once again, they lowered themselves to the ground. Only this time, Simba stayed down. As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, he saw the birds begin to tuck their heads under their wings, drowsy from their feast and the sun. Gesturing for Simba to watch, Pumbaa began to tiptoe out from behind the rocks and over to the birds. His steps were light, and for such a heavy creature, he barely made any noise. When he was only a few feet away, he stopped, tilted back his head, and let out a shout. At the same time, he loudly passed gas.
The combination of booming noises startled the birds out of their sleep and Simba watched as once more they flew straight up into the air. Only this time, instead of circling, they flew away. When the sound of their flapping wings faded, Simba looked over to where Pumbaa stood. There, in front of him, were two huge eggs.
“Told ya,” Pumbaa said. “You’ve just got to be patient.” Then, leaning down, he picked the eggs up in his tusks and trotted back over. “Wait till Timon and the others see this!” he said happily. “Two eggs! We hit the jackpot. Now let’s go home.”
As they headed back to the clearing to share the meal, Simba shook his head. Home. The word no longer meant Pride Rock. It meant the clearing. And his family was now Timon and Pumbaa and the others. As the desert gave way to the green of the jungle, Simba realized that for the first time in weeks, the thought didn’t bother him.
Thus, the days and years passed. Simba’s legs grew longer. His mane grew thicker and his chest filled out. Even on a diet of grubs and berries, the cub was becoming a full-grown lion. Soon he didn’t need to use the fallen log over the creek to get to the other side. Instead, he could simply leap over it. And while at first he had been comfortable and small enough to sleep snuggled between Timon and Pumbaa, he found that soon they were more comfortable sleeping on top of his large body.
Even the other animals, including the honey badger, the bush baby, and the elephant shrew, grew used to his presence—and his size. When they needed something on a branch that was too high to reach, it was Simba who could rise up on his back legs and get what they needed. If the occasional intruder found its way into the clearing, Simba’s growl was enough to send it running.
It was peaceful in the clearing, and as time moved on, Simba spent less and less time thinking about his old life. Eventually, the memories became cloudy and faded. He was happy now. The past was in the past. Like Timon had taught him years before, there was no point in thinking about what had happened. Hakuna matata. It wasn’t just a passing phrase for Simba and his new family. It was a way of life.
And he liked his new life a lot. He had all the food he could eat, a cozy place to sleep, friends to rely on, and no enemies to fight.
But sometimes, as he lay down to sleep and the stars shone down, he couldn’t help wondering how the Pride Lands were—if Nala and his mother were looking up at the same stars, their own bellies full, safe in the mouth of Pride Rock, and wondering what had happened to him.
Nala looked out over the Pride Lands—or rather, what was left of them—and crinkled her nose in disgust. In the distance, she could make out a group of mangy hyenas chasing off a herd of topis. Even from the top of Pride Rock, she could hear their terrible cackles and the frightened cries of the topis.
She shook her head. How had it come to this?
The answer was simple: Scar.
In the years since he had taken over the pride, he had destroyed everything Mufasa had worked so hard to create. The savannah grasses, what was left of them, were short and brown, trampled down by the hyenas’ constant chases and the terrified herds who had run—and kept on running. The Pride Lands were nearly empty, looking more like the Elephant Graveyard now than the fertile region they had once been. Dried bones littered the landscape and the few animals who had stayed were thin and weak as a result of their food being taken and eaten by the hyenas. The watering hole, which Scar did nothing to monitor, had been drained nearly dry. All that remained was a puddle, the hippos that had needed it to survive long since gone.
Sighing, Nala looked over her shoulder at the other lionesses. They, too, were mere shadows of the proud and beautiful creatures they had once been. Lack of food and water, coupled with exhaustion from being sent to hunt far too often, had left them weak. Their fur was dull, their eyes lifeless.
As Nala looked at her family and friends, she felt a familiar surge of rage bubble up inside her. She hated Scar. She hated what he had done to her and to Sarabi and to all the animals of the Pride Lands. He was a terrible, selfish creature, and not for the first time, she thought of what life would have been like if Simba had survived. If he were here, she thought, none of this would have happened.
Thinking of her old friend, Nala’s eyes welled with tears. Losing him had been the hardest thing she had ever gone through. It still hurt more than the constant ache in her stomach or the pads of her paws worn bloody from long, useless hunts on the hard ground.
At first, back when she and the others had heard the news of Simba’s and Mufasa’s deaths, Nala had clung to the hope that somehow, someway, Simba would return. She had believed Sarabi when the queen had said they would be okay, and she had even tried to give Scar a chance. But the hope had faded fast. She missed her friend. She hated going to the watering hole without him; she dreaded bath times without him there to make her laugh. Even teasing Zazu quickly lost its appeal. Without Simba, Nala felt like her life had become duller.
As Scar continued to let the hyenas take over more and more of the Pride Lands, and as it became clearer and clearer that there was nothing the lionesses could do to stop them, Nala stopped pining for her friend. Instead, she became fixated on finding someone, anyone, who could help. That thought alone, of bringing a lion back to the Pride Lands to destroy Scar, fueled Nala’s dreams and kept her focused during the days that slipped into years, while all around her life grew harder and even Sarabi gave up trying.
Each night, Nala would stare up at the star-filled sky. Simba had told her what his father had said all those years before—that the great kings looked down on them. She had to believe that they did, and that somehow they were still looking out for the Pride Lands, despite Scar and his hyenas.
But it was growing harder to believe. And now, as she watched yet another herd leave the Pride Lands for somewhere safer, a bit more of her hope disappeared. If someone didn’t do something soon, there would be no Pride Lands left to save.
Hearing the sound of flapping wings, Nala looked up and a bit of light returned to her eyes. While much had changed, there was one thing that had remained the same—Zazu. The hornbill refused to report to Scar and remained loyal to Sarabi. Every morning, without fail, he reported in—whether the news was good or bad, though it was mostly bad.
Smiling as Zazu landed beside her, Nala waited for Sarabi to approach. The queen still carried her head high, and even though her ribs were visible beneath her fading fur, she walked gracefully. “The morning report, Zazu,” she said, nodding her head in greeting.
“Your Majesty,” Zazu said with a nod of his own. “The Pride Lands are in imminent danger. The hyenas are chasing off the last of the herds.”
Just as he finished, Azizi and Kamari charged up onto Pride Rock. Letting out a series of snarls and yips, they went right after Zazu. The hornbill took to the air, staying safely out of harm’s way. A moment later, Scar appeared.
“Good morning, ladies,” he drawled as he walked past the lionesses and headed toward the edge of Pride Rock. While the lionesses were nearly skin and bones, Scar had grown bigger in the years since he had taken over the Pride Lands—though he still looked small and weak compared to the lion Mufasa had been.
Nala watched him flop down on the warm stone, and her eyes narrowed. A fresh wave of hate washed over her as Scar began to groom himself leisurely, as though he had not a care in the world, while down below the lands he was supposed to protect grew worse. “We have to do something, Sarabi,” Nala said, her jaw clenched tight. “We have to fight!”
/> Sarabi shook her head. “Nala,” she said, her voice measured. The two lionesses had had this conversation many times before. “Scar is our king.”
“But you are the queen!” Nala said. “We should leave, before it’s too late.”
“We must all stay together and protect the Pride Lands,” Sarabi said, keeping her voice low so as not to attract Scar’s attention. “This is our home, Nala. We can never abandon it.”
Nala bit back the scream that threatened to pour from her throat. How could Sarabi say that? This wasn’t their home—at least not anymore. This was a terrible shadow of the place they had once called home.
“Sarabi.”
Shenzi’s voice broke through Nala’s thoughts, and she looked up to see the queen of the hyenas standing a few feet away. Her cold eyes were narrowed as she looked at the two lionesses. “The king wishes to see you.”
Looking over to where Scar stood, his grooming session over, Nala shook her head. “Don’t go,” she said to Sarabi.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Sarabi answered as she lifted her head and began to follow Shenzi.
Nala watched her go. I’m not afraid of him, either. The words she wished she had said flashed through her mind. But he isn’t our king. And we should never come when he calls. He doesn’t deserve that respect. He doesn’t deserve any of this.…
Sarabi’s nose crinkled as she approached Scar. The smell of blood was thick in the air. His back to her, his head lowered, Scar helped himself to a bite of the fresh kill the lionesses had managed to take down in the deep of the night.
Hearing her footsteps, Scar looked up. “Won’t you join me, Sarabi?” he said, nodding to the kill. “There is plenty to go around.”
Sarabi shook her head, her eyes traveling past Scar to the Pride Lands beyond. Vultures circled in the dark sky, and the ground was littered with decay. “You’re overhunting, Scar,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. She knew Nala thought she was weak for talking to him, that she didn’t care as much as the young lioness did. But she did care. Seeing what Scar had done to this place was almost as terrible as losing Mufasa and Simba. It broke her heart anew every morning when she awoke to find the devastation Scar had wrought. But she had learned from Mufasa that some battles were meant to be waged over time, and this was one such battle. It would do her no good to outwardly hate Scar. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t hate him on the inside—with every fiber of her being.
Scar brushed off Sarabi’s observation. “I’ve simply perfected the kill,” he said, “with the help of my army.”
“You’re destroying it all!” The words were out of her mouth before Sarabi could stop herself.
But Scar didn’t grow angry at the impertinence. Instead, he laughed. “Don’t you see?” he said, still chuckling. “There is nobody to challenge me. We can finally take whatever we want.”
Sarabi raised an eyebrow. “We?” she repeated.
Scar nodded. “Long ago, you chose Mufasa over me,” he said, his laughter fading and a dark look entering his eye. “But now there is a new king—so stop being so selfish.”
“You are the selfish one,” Sarabi snapped, this time not bothering to hide her disgust.
“The other lions look to you,” Scar said. His voice was still calm, but Sarabi could see it strained the lion to keep his cool. “As long as you resist, they will reject me. Take your place by my side—and we will feast together!” He stopped and looked over at her.
Over the years, Scar had said this same thing many times. In the beginning, her refusals had been quick, furious, and absolute. She was Mufasa’s queen and would never be anyone else’s. But as she looked at the food Scar so casually ate, her stomach growling, she realized it was growing harder and harder to say no. She knew that his promises were false. There was no way, even if she agreed to become his queen, that he would share his food and resources with the other lionesses. His army of hyenas would never allow it. Still, a part of her wondered if maybe the only way to give the other lionesses hope would be to take him up on his offer.
But as suddenly as the horrible thought entered her consciousness, it disappeared. She shook her head. There was no way she would ever agree. “I told you,” she said. “I will never be your queen!”
Abandoning the kill, Scar rose to his full height. He looked down at Sarabi and slowly shook his head. Her response didn’t seem to surprise him, but his answer caught her off guard. “Then from now on,” he said, walking past her, “the lions will eat after the hyenas.” Gesturing to Shenzi and the others, he watched as they raced by him and dove into the kill. The sound of their snarls filled the air as they began to devour the food. He watched for a moment and then turned back to Sarabi. “And they don’t leave much behind.”
Without another word, Scar slunk into the den. Sarabi watched him go, a terrible feeling welling up inside her. What had she just done?
The jungle was quiet. Above, the sun shone down through clouds. Its strong rays were muted, making the temperature comfortable. On the ground, animals took advantage of the day and meandered out of their nests or dens to eat.
Walking into a circle of trees, an impala lifted his head and nibbled at some leaves. His long horns rustled the branches, and as the clouds moved, the sun shone down on the animal’s golden brown coat.
Suddenly, the peace was broken as somewhere nearby, a twig snapped.
Instantly, the impala froze. His brown eyes grew wide as he scanned the trees beyond and the longer grasses close by. Seeing nothing, the impala was just about to go back to eating when a huge lion leapt out of the grasses right at him.
The impala screamed and jumped into a large bush.
The lion stopped in his tracks. Then he smiled. “Hey,” Simba said to the impala. “You see that? I almost caught that butterfly!” Then he cocked his head. “Why are you in the bushes?” He was unaware that, to the impala, he looked like a real predator—not the friendly lion everyone had grown to love in the jungle.
As the impala said a shaky good-bye and sprinted off, Simba watched, confused. He was still staring at where the impala had disappeared into the trees when Timon and Pumbaa ambled over. Seeing that his friend looked upset, Timon put a hand on Simba’s mane, now long, thick, and deep red.
“Simba,” he said, shaking his head, “a guy like that will never frolic with a guy like you.”
“Why not?” Simba asked, genuinely perplexed. He didn’t understand. He had wanted to catch the butterfly, not hurt the impala.
Gesturing for him to follow, Timon began to walk back toward their clearing. For a while, the trio was silent, and Simba’s thoughts drifted like the clouds above. It had been years since any of his friends had made him feel like the outcast he had been when he’d come to the jungle. In the beginning, he had known that the honey badger and the elephant shrew, and even the dung beetle, were wary of him. They saw him as a vicious lion, even if he was a cub. But over the years, even they had become used to him. He no longer made them nervous: he didn’t send the elephant shrew ducking into a hole when he pounced at a shadow; he didn’t make the white fur on the honey badger’s back rise; he didn’t scare the bush baby when a yawn accidentally turned into a roar. But moments like this reminded him he was still a lion, even if he didn’t belong to a pride.
As they passed by a large termite mound, he saw his other friends hunched around it, each desperately trying to get inside. Timon followed Simba’s gaze and nodded. “You see,” he said, continuing the conversation he had started earlier, “in nature there’s a delicate balance.”
Simba narrowed his eyes. “I know all about the Circle of Life.” He hadn’t thought about it or said those words aloud in years, but he remembered it all too well. It was what had taken his father away from him. His father. He hadn’t thought about him in a long, long time. Shaking off the feeling of sadness that he felt beginning to form, he ran over to the termite mound and slammed his body into the side. It broke open, termites pouring out.
Timo
n cocked his head. “Circle?” he said as he shoveled termites into his mouth. “What circle? I’m talking about the Meaningless Line of Indifference.”
“You see, there’s this straight line,” Pumbaa explained. “And we all run toward it in paralyzing fear.”
Simba tried not to laugh as his friend demonstrated. Widening his eyes, the warthog opened his mouth and put his hoofs to his cheeks. Then he took off running—right into a tree. He slammed into it and bounced backward, landing with a thud.
“And it leads to nothing,” Timon continued as Pumbaa shook his head and trotted back over.
“Because it’s a meaningless line,” Pumbaa added.
“Of indifference,” Timon finished.
Simba walked over and began tearing some bark off a tree. As bugs rained down, he grabbed a handful and turned back to his friends. “You sure it’s not a circle?” he asked. Was it possible he had forgotten the lesson his father had taught him? He shook his head. No, it had been a circle. “We’re all connected…” he pressed.
This time it was Pumbaa’s turn to look confused. “You’re not making any sense!” he said. “A circle would mean that what I did mattered to everyone else”—he let out a laugh, and then a fart—“which is ridiculous.”
Before Simba could point out that Pumbaa did, in fact, matter to him, Timon went on. “Now go ahead, Simba,” he said, clapping his hands together and hopping up and down excitedly. “For the first time we’re entrusting you to make a plan for us today.”
“This is important,” Pumbaa added. “Think about all you’ve been taught. The straight line leads to…”
“Absolutely nothing?” Simba answered, finishing Pumbaa’s sentence.
Apparently, that was exactly the right thing to say, because everyone cheered. It looked like they had another long day of doing nothing to look forward to. As Simba shoved another handful of termites in his mouth, he smiled. Maybe Timon and Pumbaa were onto something. A straight line of not caring was a heck of a lot better than a circle of caring too much.
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