When I first heard the suggestion from Ian Layton that we do a story on Elanna’s exile, I didn’t know whether to shout “Never!” or “Let’s do it!” The project, by its very nature, was chock full of challenges and rewards. But as his pitch was laced with some specific suggestions that intrigued me, and I had little chance fighting the temptation. The idea took hold of me, and I was no longer in control of the project, it was in control of me!

It was fun while it lasted. In addition to the story line itself, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to work with Ian on something canon to the Chronicles of the Pride Lands. Dave and I had become very comfortable with each other’s style--Ian added a unique note to the theme that kept us on our toes. He has been a good friend to both of us, and I think I speak for Dave too that the experience has been fascinating.

-- John Burkitt, Nashville, Tennessee

What is it about Elanna? What is it about a character who has repeatedly come back in our minds over and over, demanding her tale be released to the world? Perhaps it is the agony of her pain which makes us sympathize with her...or the depth of her love that sustains her through it...or perhaps it is the iron will that holds her up even in the darkest hours, refusing to succumb to despair...something that inspires us all as we yearn for our happy time in the sun.

The time has finally come round for Elanna to have hers...and we’ve been invited along. Won’t you join us?

-- David Morris, Wilmington, North Carolina

Through the past few months, I have been through some bad times. From pressure at school, to my vehicle, and then to my computer, everything seemed to pile on me all at once. Throughout that time, I learned that I had many close friends, willing to do almost anything for me in my times of pain. Two of them, and among the closest, are John and Dave. I really don't know what I would have done without you two being there for me to talk to. Through all the Ugas jokes and bad puns, thank you.

Now about the story...I was on IRC one night when ideas started to be flung around by some people for an idea for another 'Chronicles' story. Someone mentioned Elanna and my wheels began to spin. The next day, I sent an e-mail to Dave with an idea for an Elanna story. He told me to forward it to John which I did. The idea was all I had planned for my part of the project, but before I knew it I was drug into the project as a writer. I would say it was a very interesting experience working with two people with different writing styles from my own...and very rewarding.

Finally I give my thanks to the Disney corporation for making the movie which this series of stories is based on. For better or worse, ‘The Lion King’ has affected me far beyond what I ever thought possible for a mere movie.

-- Ian 'Rama' Layton, La Vergne, Tennessee

The golden eye of N’ga stared at the savanna relentlessly. The effect was palpable, seeming to stir the savanna grass like a gentle wind, but it was only an illusion created by the hot, still air. The occasional wind did little to bring relief. It dried the nose and stung the eye like a fierce enemy. Zebras panted and remained near the shrinking pools of water. One-who-brings-rain had been scarce of late, and the grass has turned from gold to a tawny brown. 'Dry...but not too dry,' as the zebras had said. “Merely peckish,” the oryx had replied. Prey was still plentiful, but it had been a lean time for lions, a time to avoid unnecessary effort and rest often. Still, the land fared better than it did in one kingdom rumored to be forsaken by the gods, the lands of Taka.

A lone lion made his way through the grass with the fearful, empty tread of the recently exiled. Now his fate rested on two points: the mercy of Aiheu and his own resourcefulness. His old friends, his family, and his familiar grounds were behind him, perhaps forever, and he sought out solace in a new beginning. Only that lion seemed to bear an extra weight on his shoulders that made his ears a little flatter, his tail a little lower and his step a little slower than most.

"Why didn’t I listen to Dad?" he said aloud. Rogue lions often talked to themselves for a while to fill the void--at least until they got used to doing without companionship. He looked back from where he came and let out a loud sigh as if the weight of the land was on his shoulders. “Why was I such an idiot??”

Only a week ago his life had been so simple. An heir apparent, he was used to respect and concessions. Everything had been fine a week ago, but those times seemed like a distant memory. Fewer days than he had toes? Could it be that short a time?

He had been given a commoner’s mantlement and sent out never to return. It was a shameful fate for one destined for greatness from his birth. The promise of his presentation was not kept, and he was alone and vulnerable. Sure he had stirred up the lionesses. But he had meant no harm by it. Many princes go through a phase of acting like a brat, a child wanting to test the limits set by his elders and have a little fun bending a few rules. The lionesses didn't mind too much when the young cub would come to them and demand things. 'He will grow out of it,' the king would assure them. ‘It is just a phase he’s going through.’ But he did not grow out of it. It got worse with age.

He had been warned. Warned that he would be sent away like the troublemaker Gamu. But the constant warnings had become a familiar part of his life, a background noise that got tuned out from constant repetition and no enforcement. A commoner’s mantlement would never REALLY befall him. At least that was what he used to think.

His mother had died giving birth to him. The thought of what she must have been like, and his father’s stories about her, filled him with awe. He loved the lioness he never knew as much as many cubs love their living mother. But to the other lionesses he had shown little respect. His father had tried to raise him differently, but he did not know how to channel youthful energies into productive growth. Many of the lionesses would have gladly given the young cub lessons, but the King only let them give him milk. That was a dreadful mistake, not only in how the son turned out, but in shaping how the lionesses felt about him. Finally with a threatened rebellion looming large, the King decided to overcompensate, becoming a harsh disciplinarian and making life for his prince a living hell. That only aggravated the situation. More warnings were met with more rebellious behavior. It was only a matter of time until the situation came to a head.

The King’s younger son Ababu was only five minutes younger, but he had no claim on the throne. Still, he had been properly trained by the lionesses, and they were demanding that he be the heir. “Five minutes younger, but years more mature! Either Ababu will be our next king or we’re out of here!”

The King had no choice, and he called a commoner’s mantlement for his former prince. With many bitter tears from father and son, and glares of satisfaction from most of the lionesses, the prince was sent away. That was only a few sunsets ago, and the young lion had experienced his first taste of the loneliness that would be his curse. When he could finally work past the anger and bitterness he felt, he took a long close look at his life, comparing himself to Ababu. He remembered all the times he’d snickered about his brother’s prim and proper behavior, calling him “stodgy” and “stuck-up.” He wished he’d been more stodgy and stuck-up.