The Lion King Novel

Timon and Pumba

Simba had no idea how long he walked after that, but he was very tired by the time he was out of the Pride Lands. The sun had come and gone several times, but he didn't stop even when he reached the borders. He had only two goals in mind: get away from near the Pride Lands, and lose the hyenas.

He limped on until he reached the desert, an area he had never been to before. This was nothing like the Pride Lands, which were lush and green during the wet season; instead, it was a dry and desolate land, with never-ending sand and sand dunes in sight. He limped on through the desert, feeling more tired and pained the more he trudged on. At last, Simba could take it no more, and he collapsed. He wasn't sure how far he had walked, but he was sure that he had limped a pretty good distance.

While he lay there, he began thinking. His stomach was empty, yet his mind was full, making it hard to rest. Images flashed through his mind: his father falling into the stampede, and his uncle condemning his actions in starting said stampede. Then another image flashed, one that made his already dry eyes burn with tears: his mother's reaction to Mufasa's death. He could also see Kio sadness turn to anger towards him once he figured out that he was the one who did it.

He definitely could never go back. But there would be no returning anyway, even if he wanted to. Wanting to or not, he was going to die in the desert.

Suddenly, the sounds of buzzards screeching reached his ears. Indeed, buzzards were circling above him, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down. Simba wanted desperately to make a run for it, but he couldn't. He was too tired to limp on, too hungry and thirsty to move.

Maybe I should rest, he thought, tucking his legs in. Just for a little bit. And then...I don't know what to do anymore...

While he closed his eyes, he could hear the buzzards coming closer, wings flapping and beaks squawking. This time, he did not fight back as he blacked out.

...

When the lion cub collapsed, the buzzards knew that a meal was not far away. It was all alone in the desert, lost and hungry and thirsty. He was so thin that one could see the ribs poking out of his now-dull golden fur. The buzzards landed beside the unconscious lion cub, ready to settle down with a meal.

Suddenly, a yell and a red blur caused the buzzards to scatter, taking to the air. A reddish-brown warthog came shouting and charging at them, headbutting any birds unlucky enough to still stay on the ground. Besides the warthog, a meerkat jumped down from the warthog's back, yelling at the buzzards and trying to smack them with his paw.

The buzzards got the message, however. They lifted off from their potential meal and flew away, leaving behind nothing but dust and feathers.

"I love this game!" the warthog cheered once the buzzards were gone. "Bowling For Buzzards! I told you one more round wouldn't hurt, Timon!"

"Yeah, you told me. Gets 'em every time!" the meerkat named Timon chuckled, dusting off his paws. "Any eggs there? I'm telling ya, Pumbaa, they're best when the buzzards pop 'em out!"

The warthog named Pumbaa put his nose to the ground, sniffing and snorting. "No, I don't see or smell any eggs. But I'm gonna get one of those buzzards one day. You'll see! I'm gonna get 'em!"

Timon snorted. "Yeah, when pigs fly. When did you get the habit of chasing them anyway?"

"It makes me feel better," replied Pumbaa.