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Dry Season Little to no rain at all. Very hot. Prey is usually found in morning and evening; they hide in the heat of the day.
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The savannah was empty, except for a golden lion standing alone. The chestnut mane that encircled his neck hung limp as he looked at the earth with clouded eyes. His legs trembled under him, his thoughts were troubled. The young lion sat down on the grass that was tinted silver in the nighttime air. The mandrill had left, believing the lion had gone back as well. But he knew he couldn’t go back. Not now. “Simba?” The calm voice of a lioness sounded behind him. The male turned to see a cream colored female limping out of a stand of tropical trees. She made her way to him. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier…but you should really go back. We do need you.” The lion shook his head before looking into her emerald eyes. “No, Nala, I can’t go back. I don’t have what it takes.” He sighed, surprised by how much he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as her. He looked at one of her forelegs. “Is your leg alright?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “My leg is fine. Just a little bruise, that’s all. Maybe you shouldn’t be so fierce protecting your warthog friend when you’re fighting a cubhood friend,” she teased. “How was I supposed to know it was you?” Simba replied in a playful voice. His eyes clouded over again quickly. “Pride Rock isn’t my home anymore, Nala. This is.” |
Furaha Simba Maliki |
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