The air rushed from his lungs in a sudden sigh and his paw slipped down.

Sarafina hung her head and began to sob, stroking his mane with her paw. He looked almost like Nala when she slept. Never again would his kind eyes look in hers. Never again would his gentle voice speak of love. The sun that had risen on her joy would set on her grief. And not hers alone, but Uzuri’s.

“What will I tell her? How could I tell her?” She had no idea what to say, or even who to tell. She couldn’t tell Uzuri that she had seen him die! Rafiki would have to tell her, and when he wouldn’t reveal his source, Uzuri would be suspicious.

With a trembling paw, Sarafina drew a circle around Ugas’ eye and touched him beneath the jaw. Then giving Ugas one last kiss, she turned and trudged away toward home. She could not roar, but had to keep her feelings locked away inside her. She wiped her tears and tried to freeze her face into a mask of deceptive calm. Her sister’s husband had died making love to her, and out of love for Uzuri she would suffer in silence.

The next day Adhama was sunning herself with Agavi when she noticed vultures circling some distance away. “That’s odd. I don’t remember a kill to the west.”

“Maybe it’s the hyenas again. That brother of yours is probably napping again.”

“My brother the king, you mean,” Adhama chided gently. “Still,” she sighed, “you’re probably right. I’ll go have a little talk with him. But first, let’s check out that kill.”

They headed west to what would have been the gateway to the eastern meadow from Pride Rock. The number of birds seemed to indicate a rather large animal down, and Adhama felt her spirits perk up despite her irritation at Ugas; the pride might eat well tonight if it was fresh.

That was when Agavi saw the body. “It’s a lion!”

Adhama trembled. She sniffed the air, then froze for one awful moment like a statue of grief. “Oh my gods!!”

“It’s Ugas!!”

Adhama ran to her brother, scattering a flock of vultures, and began to paw and nuzzle him. “Ugas!! Brother!! Oh gods, he’s dead!!” She fell upon him, running a paw gently over where the birds had sadly abused his body. “Oh, you poor, sweet angel--walking the border! Oh gods, how tired it made him! He always said how tired he got, and I didn’t want him to take a nap!” She began to sob.

“Honey Tree, he lived a long life. He was happier at the end than I’ve seen him in years. Don’t blame yourself.”

“He wanted to see his sons and tell them he loved them.” She stroked his mane and wept. Her grief was deep, but the urge to roar for him and release her grief was suppressed by a more immediate concern. “Agavi, we have no male heir till the twins get here. We’ll have to hide him.”

“HIDE him? Hide HIM??”

“You get the pride sisters together. We have to do something. Maybe we can mark the territory--scratch a few trees--pee on a shrub--I don’t know!”

“They’ll know it’s not a male.”

“Well, maybe if we freshen up some old marks. We can’t just sit here--we’re in danger!”

And so began a time in the life of Ugas’ pride known as The Panic. At all times there were at least two lionesses awake that traveled together. If trouble came, they were not to fight but to head back to the others at a run using separate paths. Cubs were not to play by themselves under any conditions. And no matter what, Ugas’ name was not to be mentioned aloud except at certain times. In front of Zazu’s family (who were notorious gossips) they would talk of Ugas’ latest accomplishments. Reports would be given to Ugas’ dour-faced majordomo Ichabod that the King was busy patrolling and just drove off some hyenas. The crane would nod and take to the skies, gleefully squawking at the top of his lungs at the King’s latest exploits. And Atika, who had the deepest voice of the lionesses, would drop a register or two and do a decent imitation of Ugas’ evening call. “This land is mine! Mine by the will of Aiheu! I will protect my family and my own!”

She meant it too....

Kombi did not know he was a prince. Indeed, he did not know his father’s name. And so to him The Big World was still a great mystery into which he would be thrust one day to eke out a living.

Like most lions his age, he was looking around for a lioness that would come with him to share his existence and comfort him in his loneliness. Vianga would not even speak to him, much less face the unknown by his side. But somewhere there must be another, and he was determined to find her.

Lately, Kombi had his eye on Wajanja, a lovely creature whose gentleness was a stark contrast to his own brashness. It was precisely this contrast that had kept them apart. Now the lioness cub that he had once held in contempt, and who had tattled on him often as a child became the object of his greatest desires.

There lay the problem. Some of the young lionesses were interested in him, but he could not return their affections. He was attracted to someone who did not even like him, much less love him.

Wajanja was the type that found deep meaning in everything and made remarks to her friends how Simba's love for Nala reminded her of Mano and Minshasa, casting them as romantic hero and heroine. Wajanja loved to roll in the flowers, but was sad to see their fragile beauty crushed. Her three hundred pound weight, rapier claws, and passion for hunting red meat on the hoof aside, she had a very gentle disposition when compared to Kombi.

He would follow her at a discrete distance, watching her while his brother felt like a lonely widower after so much attention for so long.

She noticed his attentions, and she made every effort to show she was spurning him, even going to the trouble to change paths once and take the long route to the watering hole. As if that were not enough, she would talk with her friends in his hearing and insult his “infantile attempts” to woo her.

Finally, one day, Kombi decided to force the issue. He ran a few steps ahead of her, blocked her path and blurted out, “Wajanja, we need to talk.”

“Wrong. You need to talk. Why don’t you find someone that wants to listen.”

“That’s very cold, Jannie.”

“My friends call me that. You can call me Wajanja. Now repeat after me--‘so long, Wajanja.’”

She tried to push past him, but he moved in front of her again. “You’ve never even given me a chance. I have the right to just one fair chance, don’t I?”

“No. Love is a privilege, not a right. So is conversation.”

“Well, just grant me the right this once and I won’t press the issue further, OK?”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Very well. You are not my type. I want the quiet, sensitive type like Habu. If he wasn’t smitten with Lisani, I’d be all over him like green on leaves.” She sighed. “I’d leave the pride for him. I don’t think Miss Priss would. Love is wasted on the wrong people.”

“I know. Deep down inside I am really sensitive and--uh--quiet. But I have to put on a brave front for the others. See, I can even cry.” He tried to force tears to come, screwing up his face into all kinds of promising but unproductive expressions. He turned and bit his paw. Then he got tears all right, but ended up hopping around, holding his forepaw to his chest and licking it.

She laughed at him and said, "You never had a serious thought in your whole life!"

He looked at her, hurt. "Oh really? I’ve had lots of serious thoughts." Turned his back to her and sat down.

"You wanted to talk. Well, this is your chance. Name one," she said derisively. “Can you even name one?”

"Well, for one, I have to leave the Pride someday, and I have nightmares about it. I mean, I'll have Togo and all, but I’ll never see my mother again and I’ll never see you again, Jannie. No matter how you feel about me, I love you and I’ll miss you and hope you fall in love with someone who can love you back. Sometimes I was dumb enough to think I might get you to notice me, or even like me a little. I say dumb enough because love can make clever guys act so stupid. Well, I hope you got a good laugh out of it--at least one of us will."