The sun had long since set on their leisurely day as Simba, Timon, and Pumbaa lay on their backs in the middle of the clearing. Stars twinkled brilliantly in the sky above and a gentle breeze blew through the jungle, making the leaves whisper. It was quiet and beautiful.
And then, Simba burped.
“Whoa!” Timon cried. “Nice one!”
Simba smiled proudly. “Thanks,” he said, sounding pleased by the praise. “Must have been the termites.”
In answer, Pumbaa let out a loud, long fart. “Or the crickets,” he said, laughing.
“And you wonder why I prefer to sleep underground,” Timon said, waving a hand in front of his nose. But he smiled as he said it, not really bothered by his friends’ interruption. He was more than used to it at this point.
Silence once more fell over the group, and for a long moment, the only noise was the sound of the friends’ breathing. Then Pumbaa turned his head and looked over at Timon. “You ever look up and wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Pumbaa,” Timon replied, “I don’t wonder. I know.”
“Oh,” Pumbaa breathed, impressed. “What are they?”
Timon sat up and cleared his throat, eager as always to show the others how much he knew. “They’re fireflies,” he explained. “Fireflies that got stuck on that big bluish-black thing.”
Pumbaa frowned slightly. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. He thought the sparkly dots were something much different. “I always thought they were balls of gas, burning billions of miles away.”
Simba half-listened to his friends as they playfully bickered, each confident that they knew the right answer. But his gaze remained trained on the sky above, a hazy memory of a night long ago tickling at his mind. A memory of staring up at this same sky on a peaceful night just like this one. A memory of something good before things went terribly wrong.
“What do you think, Simba?”
Timon’s question startled Simba out of his reverie. “Well, I don’t know,” he said softly. “Somebody once told me the great kings of the past are up there—watching over us.”
There was a long pause, and then Timon and Pumbaa burst out laughing. “That’s a good one,” Pumbaa said, clutching his sides and rolling around.
“Royal dead guys watching over us!” Timon cracked, his eyes watering from laughing so hard. “I hope they don’t fall out of the sky!” He held his hands over his head and pretended to duck out of the way. Finally regaining his composure, he looked over at Simba. “Think about it. Why would a bunch of kings be looking out for us? We’re outcasts.”
Getting to his feet, Simba shook his head. He knew his friends didn’t mean anything by it, but hearing them laugh at his father’s words hurt more than he would have expected it to. It hit a nerve that he’d thought had long since gone numb. Turning his back on Timon and Pumbaa, he slowly began to walk away. He needed some time alone.
The air was still as he walked out of the clearing and over to a nearby hill. The spot had become his favorite place over the years. Out of the way, and with few hiding spots, it was usually empty and afforded Simba a view out over the horizon. When he was younger, the hill had been as close to Pride Rock as he could find. He had spent hours lying up on the edge, looking out, wondering, hoping that maybe, somehow, his father would appear on the ground below. He would imagine Nala bursting through the brush, her big green eyes full of warm laughter. During the worst moments, he would find himself thinking of his mother, missing her warmth.
Reaching the top of the hill, he ambled over to the edge and flopped down. The movement sent a puff of dust up into the air and Simba watched as it floated farther and farther away until it disappeared altogether. Only then did he dare lift his head.
The stars shone down, appearing closer now from his new vantage point. A sad, soft sigh slipped from his mouth as, in the gentle breeze, he once again heard his father’s voice and felt his mother’s touch. To his surprise, he felt his eyes well up, a single tear falling down his face. He hadn’t cried in so long and the reaction made him upset. Angrily, he swiped away the tear, sending a tuft of his own fur flying into the air.
He knew he wasn’t angry. If he was honest with himself, he was just sad. Sad that even now, years later, he couldn’t escape the ghosts of his past. Somehow, Mufasa was always there, right at the periphery, his deep voice the conscience in Simba’s head. He was the voice that tried to make Simba do something when Timon and Pumbaa were content to do nothing. Simba’s memories of Pride Rock and the life he had lived there kept a piece of him from ever truly embracing the hakuna matata way of thinking.
Shaking his head, he tried to stop the flood of emotions he felt cascading to the surface. He didn’t want to worry or think about Pride Rock. He doubted anyone was thinking about him there. The lionesses were probably busy hunting, the herds busy feeding. He imagined Zazu was still making his reports about the day-to-day successes of the Pride Lands. And Nala? Well, she was probably running around with a new best friend, chasing hippos and ducking in and out of the brush beside the overflowing watering hole.
Simba stood up. No, it wasn’t worth thinking about the past. The past was in the past. The stars were probably fireflies caught on a big black nothing. And he would be better off going back to the clearing—his home.
Nala opened her eyes. Around her, she could hear the even breathing of the other lionesses, and beyond that, the snores of the surrounding hyenas. Getting to her feet, she softly padded around the sleeping bodies of her friends and made her way to the front of the den.
Sarabi was awake, her head up, silently looking out over the desolated Pride Lands. Her eyes were dark and full of emotion. Even in the middle of the night, it was clear how much damage Scar and the hyenas had caused. There were no sounds of nocturnal animals calling to each other, no occasional birdcalls or trumpeting elephants. Those animals were all long gone. The only life left in the Pride Lands were the lions, the hyenas, and the few remaining lone souls who still dared try to make a home there.
Slowly, Sarabi turned her head and looked over at the younger lioness. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” she whispered.
Nala shook her head. She knew Sarabi had been dreading this moment for a long time. But they had no choice. Things had grown too dire. Something needed to change, and while it wasn’t Nala’s first choice to be the one to go, no one else had offered. In stolen moments, they had whispered plans, discussed possibilities that did not involve Nala leaving. But time and time again, they had come to the same conclusion—or rather, Nala had come to her own conclusion.
“I have to look for help, Sarabi,” she said now. “I have to try. Tell my mother not to worry—I promise to come back.”
Nala turned to go but hesitated. Looking over the tired lionesses, their ribs visible, their bodies relaxed only now in sleep, her eyes welled with unspoken emotion. They had been through so much. They had suffered unnecessarily and seen the land they loved ruined. She couldn’t let them down.
But as she tiptoed past the sleeping lions and toward the small hole in the back of the cave, she couldn’t help wondering—what if there was no one out there who would help them? What if she failed? What would happen to the Pride Lands? And most importantly, what would happen to Sarabi and her mother and all the other lionesses? She paused at the opening and took one last look behind her.
Shaking her head, Nala ducked out of the cave. Then, taking a deep breath, she slipped into the darkness of the night, leaving the sleeping hyenas and her pride of loyal lionesses behind.
I will be back, she vowed to herself as the snores of the hyenas faded and the night grew silent. I promise. I’ll get help, no matter how long it takes me or how far I have to go. The answer has to be out there. Somewhere.
A night of sleep had done wonders for Simba’s attitude, and he woke up ready to put his past in the past—again. Jumping to his feet, he had yawned, stretched, and shaken his mane out of hi
s eyes. Then he had grabbed a few grubs and sat down to think. He felt like doing something today. Not something too big. But maybe a walk through the jungle? It’d do his friends some good to get out of the clearing.
With this plan in mind, he woke up Timon and Pumbaa and soon the trio were making their way through the jungle. It was quiet in the early morning, the jungle animals still tucked safely in their holes, dens, and caves. Simba strolled along, content to enjoy the peace and quiet.
And then Timon began to sing.
Tilting back his head, he started to warble. As he got into it, his voice grew louder and more off-key. Simba started to laugh. By the time the meerkat hit the chorus, Pumbaa had joined in and Simba was swinging his head to the bouncy rhythm.
As the trio continued their impromptu concert, Pumbaa closed his eyes and sang the loudest. Caught up in the song, Simba didn’t even realize the warthog had wandered away—until he heard him scream. Loudly.
Instantly, Simba stopped singing. His head spun around as he looked to see what had caused his friend to let out such a frightened scream. To his surprise and horror, the reason was immediately apparent. A lioness, her hackles raised and her teeth bared, was chasing Pumbaa across the jungle floor.
In a blind panic, Pumbaa sprinted as fast as his little legs could take him, running around a series of fallen logs and over a jumble of rocks. But he wasn’t fast enough. In moments, the lioness had him cornered against a tree.
Not stopping to think, Simba charged after his friend. Leaping over the same logs, he spotted a low-hanging branch a few feet above where Pumbaa was cowering. He jumped up on it, raced across, and then, just as the lioness was about to pounce, flung himself off the tree.
The air rushed from his lungs as he landed with a thud right on top of the lioness. The momentum sent them both flying across the leafy ground. They rolled head over tail for a few feet, snarling and wrestling, each trying to get the upper hand until, finally, the lioness flipped Simba over onto his back. Pinned to the ground, Simba struggled to get free. But the lioness was stronger than she appeared, and the harder he struggled, the fiercer she looked.
And then, to his surprise, the lioness’s grip loosened. Her eyes grew wide and her breath hitched. “Simba?” she said, jumping off him and backing away.
As his name left her mouth, Simba’s own eyes grew wide. Could it be? Was it even possible? He shook his head, trying to see if his vision was impaired. But when he stopped, he was still looking at the same green eyes that were now obviously and clearly familiar. “Nala?” he said in disbelief.
“Is that really you?” she asked, echoing the thought in his own head.
Getting to his feet, Simba nodded. “It’s me!” he cried, racing forward and throwing his paws around Nala. He felt hysterical laughter bubble up inside him. Nala was there! In the jungle!
“Simba!” she said, pulling back. Her eyes grew suddenly serious, causing Simba’s laughter to catch in his throat. “I thought you were dead!”
Dead? What did she mean she thought he was dead? What had Scar told her? His mind raced. When he had first arrived in the jungle, he had dreamed of this moment. But in time the dream had faded, and he had come to grips with the fact that Nala and the others had moved on, never thought of him. But could he have been wrong? He looked up at Nala, not sure what to say.
“I thought I was dead,” Pumbaa said, interrupting the moment. He was still standing by the tree, shaking.
“What is going on here?” Timon piped up, looking back and forth between the two lions, bewilderment making his big eyes bigger.
Shaking off his confusion, Simba turned to his friends. “Timon, Pumbaa,” he said, “I want you to meet my best friend—Nala.”
Timon raised a hand to his heart. “Best friend?” he repeated. “That hurts.”
“Nala is such a pretty name,” Pumbaa said, immediately okay with the lioness now that she wasn’t trying to kill him.
But Timon was not as easy to appease. He kept looking back and forth between Nala and Simba, shaking his head. “Let me get this straight,” he finally said. “You know her. She knows you. But she wants to eat him.” He pointed at Pumbaa, who shrugged. “And everyone is okay with this? Did I miss something?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nala,” Pumbaa went on, ignoring his friend.
“Don’t say meat!” Timon shouted. “She’s looking at you like a full rack of ribs.”
Simba had to admit Timon wasn’t wrong. Nala was looking at Pumbaa like he might make a good snack. But Simba knew she wouldn’t hurt him. She was Nala. His buddy. His best friend. Even if she did look a little hungrier and skinnier than he would have imagined, she wouldn’t hurt anyone Simba cared about. He would show her the nearest fallen log and get her a good snack. “This is incredible!” he finally said, no longer able to contain his excitement. “You’re going to love it here!”
Nala cocked her head, looking confused. “Simba,” she said, shaking her head. “We need to leave. Scar has taken over with the hyenas. You have to take your place as king!”
Simba stared at Nala. Now that his excitement was fading, he realized she looked scared. And tired. But was she really suggesting he go back and become king? He couldn’t go back. He didn’t belong there. That was his old life. He started to shake his head, but before he could speak, Timon jumped in.
“King? Simba?” he said. “Lady, have you got your lions crossed?”
Pumbaa, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think it was such a crazy idea. Bending over, he lowered his head and bowed.
“Pumbaa,” Simba said, walking over and lifting the warthog’s head. “She’s wrong.”
Simba felt Nala’s gaze on him, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he began to pace. How could this moment have gone from amazing to terrible so quickly? Seeing Nala was amazing. But being reminded of what he had left? That was terrible.
“Seeing you again,” Nala pressed. “You don’t know what this will mean to everyone. You have to come home.”
Simba shook his head. “This is my home,” he said. Moving toward her, he stopped right in front of her. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Simba forgot what he was going to say. In the dappled light, Nala looked…different. She still looked like the best friend he had left behind, but at the same time she seemed wiser, tougher, stronger. She looked like she had carried a heavy weight on her shoulders for a long time. But she didn’t need to, not if she stayed in the jungle. “Please stay,” he finally said. “This place is incredible. I know you’ll love it.”
“I can’t—” Nala started to say.
“Come on,” Simba begged. “At least let me show you around!” He opened his eyes and pretended to pout, the same way he had when they were cubs and he’d wanted her to help him do something she knew she shouldn’t. A small smile started to spread over her face, and finally, she gave the slightest of nods.
That was all Simba needed. Turning, he began to walk. He needed to show her how amazing the jungle was, how beautiful it could be. Because for some reason he couldn’t quite explain, he really, really wanted her to stay—forever.
Nala followed behind Simba, her mind racing. She had left the Pride Lands to find help. And she had ended up finding Simba. It was better than she could have imagined. In that moment, when she had first realized who he was, Nala had felt a surge of hope so big it threatened to drown her. But then he had been so quiet when she had told him what was happening at home, and he’d inexplicably refused to leave. She just didn’t understand. What was so special about this place?
In the bushes behind them, she could hear Timon and Pumbaa talking about them. Or rather, she could hear the meerkat talking about her. She frowned as he told Pumbaa that nothing good would come of her showing up. Clearly, she was no threat. She had already asked Simba to come home and he had already said no.
Sighing, she shook off her sadness and picked up the pace. She might as well enjoy whatever time she had with Simba now, while she could. Looking ahead,
she saw that he had stopped by the side of a river. The water rushed past, glimmering in the sunshine and creating small, nearly imperceptible rainbows near the surface. Nala’s breath caught in her throat as a beam of light burst from between the clouds and illuminated Simba. In that moment, he looked nothing like the cub she had once known; he looked like his father. Powerful and strong, he looked every inch the king he should be—if only he would see it.
Unaware of Nala’s thoughts, or the odd feeling growing in her that she couldn’t quite explain, Simba reached down and swiped a paw in the water, splashing her. Letting out a laugh, she ran over to him and swiped her own paw in the river. In moments, they were playing and giggling, just like they had down at the watering hole years ago.
For the rest of the afternoon, Nala followed Simba as he showed her the jungle he called home. After years of living under Scar’s rule, watching the once fertile Pride Lands grow sparse and lifeless, the jungle provided her with welcome relief. The trees, thick with green leaves, covered soft ground that didn’t hurt to walk on. The air was sweet with the smell of dozens of different plants and humid from the waterfalls that cascaded down from the high hills above. Taking off across an open field, Nala smiled, not only at Simba, who raced ahead, ducking and weaving between flowers with the abandon of a young cub, but also at the beauty all around her. She could see why Simba loved it there. She could even see how happy he seemed.
Ducking back into the trees, she jumped up onto a branch and watched as Simba searched for her, their childhood game of hide-and-seek both familiar and different at the same time. From her vantage point, she saw his thick mane, broad shoulders, and powerful muscles that rippled beneath his golden fur. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked up and smiled warmly.
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