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Simba sat at a distance, watching as several lion cubs laughed and chased each other around the area in front of the den. He scowled as one cub tackled another and then playfully bit the other cub’s ear. A part of him wanted to join in their fun, but another part of him was still fuming from being left behind. Maybe , he thought, if I show Dad what a good hunter I’m becoming , he’ll take me with him next time .
With a determined nod, Simba scanned the area. He needed something to hunt. He saw Zazu perched on one of the higher rocks. Possible... but not great. He wanted a different challenge, and since he had already tackled Zazu that morning, he kept looking. The other cubs were a possibility... but then he would have to tell them what he was doing, and they would probably want to join him. Finally, his eyes landed on a beetle moving over the rocks. Its black back glistened in the sun and it was moving at just the right pace.
Slipping away from the rock, he crouched low, just like his father had taught him. Then he began to inch forward. He had just decided to make his move and pounce when a voice from behind startled him.
“If you wish to kill something, you might want to stay downwind.”
Whirling around, Simba saw his uncle slowly amble out from the darkness of his cave. He paused in the entrance, half his body still in shadow.
“I know how to hunt, Uncle Scar,” Simba said. To prove himself, he turned and pounced—completely missing the beetle and instead slamming headfirst into a rock.
Behind him, Scar raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hope we’re never attacked by a beetle,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go back to your den, Simba. I don’t babysit.” With a swish of his tale, he headed back into the cave.
Watching him go, Simba cocked his head. “Babysit?” he repeated, following his uncle inside. He didn’t need a babysitter. “I’m going to be king of Pride Rock. My dad showed me the whole kingdom—said I’m going to rule it all.”
“Is that so?” Scar said, sounding unimpressed.
Simba nodded. Moving closer to his uncle, he glanced around the cave. He had never been inside his uncle’s den before. He wrinkled his nose. It was dirty and smelled... funny. It was cold, too. He shivered, suddenly wishing he hadn’t strayed quite so far. But then he remembered that morning. He wasn’t a little cub anymore. He didn’t need to go running home. “Think about it,” he said, focusing his attention back on his uncle. “When I’m king, I’ll have to give you orders. Tell you what to do, where to go. How weird is that?”
“You have no idea,” Scar said. Coming closer, he looked down at Simba. “So... your dad showed you the whole kingdom?” he asked. Simba nodded. “Did he show you the shadows beyond the northern borders?”
Simba stopped nodding and looked up at his uncle in surprise. How had Scar known that he’d asked his dad about that very spot? Simba frowned. Had Zazu told him? Had Zazu told everyone that his dad didn’t trust him? His frown deepened. “He said I can’t go there. Ever.”
To his surprise, Scar nodded. “And he’s absolutely right! An elephant graveyard is no place for a young prince—” Scar stopped suddenly, looking guilty. “Oops.”
“Elephant graveyard?” Simba repeated, his eyes wide. “Whoa!” No wonder his father wanted him to stay away—it was probably the coolest place ever. Full of big bones and all sorts of stuff he had never seen. But how could a place like that really be all that dangerous? Who would want to hang out with a bunch of bones? Still... it would be pretty amazing to see it.
“Oh, dear,” Scar said, clearly reading the excitement on his nephew’s face. “I’ve said too much. Well, I suppose you’d have found out sooner or later. You being king and all.”
Simba looked up at his uncle with awe. “You’ve been there?” he said. Scar nodded, and Simba’s eyes grew even wider. His father had always told him to leave Scar alone. But now that he was there, talking to him, Scar didn’t seem all that bad. In fact, he was the only one who seemed to realize Simba would be king someday and maybe deserved to know some things. But just as Simba started to feel like he and Scar could be friends, his uncle shook his head.
“We’ve all been there. And it’s no place for a cub,” he said.
At the word cub, Simba grimaced. But Scar’s next words distracted him all over again. “All those rotting bones...”
“Rotting bones?” Simba felt as though he were about to leap out of his skin. He wanted to go there—now.
Scar held up a paw. “Promise me you’ll stay away, Simba,” he said solemnly. “Now you run along.” Reaching out, he gave Simba a little push. Simba tried to turn back but his uncle didn’t budge. Lowering his head, Simba sighed and began to make his way up toward Pride Rock. Just as he reached the path, he heard Scar call out his name. Turning back hopefully, Simba saw his uncle still standing where he had left him. “Remember,” Scar called out. “It’s our little secret. Your Majesty.” With a nod, the older lion turned and slunk back into his den.
Our little secret , Simba repeated to himself. He could keep the secret. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he had spent time with Scar or that he had learned what lay in the shadows near the horizon. Well, he wouldn’t tell almost anyone. Because there was someone he definitely had to tell—when he convinced her to go with him to see the graveyard!
Nala lay on her stomach, itching to move. Her mother, Serafina, was in the middle of giving her a bath—and Nala hated baths. She wanted to be out playing with the other cubs, or even better, she wanted to find her best friend, Simba, and do something with him. Maybe go to the watering hole? Practice pouncing? But instead, she had gotten snatched up by her mother and was now being forced to sit still while every inch of her golden fur was licked. Nala had to admit, though, it felt kind of nice.
Hearing footsteps at the entrance to the den, Nala lifted her head. A smile spread over her face as she saw Simba’s curious eyes scanning the den for her. She tried to signal to him, but Serafina pushed her paw down and licked harder. Luckily, Simba spotted her anyway.
“Nala!” Simba shouted as he raced over. “Come on! We have to go!”
“Where?” Nala said.
Simba looked like he was going to jump out of his skin with excitement. “The watering hole!” he said, pointing out of the den, as if that were the obvious answer.
Before Nala could reply, Serafina shook her head. “Nala is having her bath,” she said. To prove it, she resumed her licking.
“And it’s time for yours.”
Looking over, Nala saw Simba’s mother, Sarabi, entering the den. Her own coat was dusty, but it didn’t stop her from looking regal. Nala had always been a little in awe of her. As queen, it was Sarabi’s duty to provide for the lionesses and cubs. Mufasa helped, but Sarabi carried the majority of the weight on her strong shoulders. Nala knew her mother was Sarabi’s best friend and right hand when it came to hunting. She hoped to someday be as fierce as both of them.
As Simba protested, Sarabi lifted him by the scruff of his neck and sat down on a nearby ledge. She began to lick him, her rough tongue ridding his fur of the dirt from his earlier adventure outside. Finally, he broke free. “See—all clean,” he said, twirling in front of Sarabi. “Can we go?”
Sarabi raised her nose and sniffed the air.
“There’s no hyena,” Simba said, realizing what she was doing. “You just chased them all off!”
“Just to the watering hole—no further,” she finally said, nodding in agreement.
“Go through the high grass,” Serafina said, releasing Nala from her grasp. Jumping to her feet, Nala raced over to join Simba. She waggled her eyebrows in excitement, and together, the cubs turned to go.
But Sarabi wasn’t done yet. “Stay downwind,” she said. “And one more little thing... Zazu will be going with you.”
At the same time, Nala and Simba let out groans of dismay. Taking the bird with them would take all the fun out of whatever adventure Simba had in mind.