There's a Ghost in My Lungs

Nala's banishment from her homelands had left her in a weary state. While she hoped to spread war of Scar's tyranny and perhaps find food and water she could find a way to bring to those of her pride that hadn't already been banished, it wasn't going very well. Most of the territories seemed to be struggling, many fighting their own problems or still too weak to do anything against Scar's army of hyenas. But the lioness still held hope -- she could feel the possibilities close on the horizon. Many of the creatures she passed seemed restless, ready for change for reasons of their own. All they needed was the right push.

And Nala intended to offer a shove. All she had to do was find the means. She had to draw them all together, give them something to rally behind rather than be a horde of random lions with their own troubles and famines. Despite all her efforts, few were willing to follow her completely until she had further backing. Yes, many sympathized and agreed with the idea to take down Scar, but they all needed time, strength, numbers. All of which Nala was sorely lacking.

The most pressing problem, however, and usually the one at the crux of other's decisions to help; Who would then rule the Pridelands? No one wanted any of Scar's children or relations to hold any claim to the throne, but there were no other. Mufasa's line was dead, the royalty only living in Scar, and the younger brother's own line was tainted. Even if Nala thought some redemption should be found in his cubs, with the right involvement of positive forces, few were willing to agree with her.

So it was with such heavy matters, and a long empty stomach, that Nala carried into the Lowlands. It was nearly hopeless, but Nala refused to give in completely. She held a certain light close, deep within her, something that whispered to her louder and louder with each passing day of her travels -- that something was coming, change was near, and... something else. Something Nala could not quite put her paw on. But it was a light, familiar feeling, and she allowed it to lead her to the Oasis without question.

Perhaps it was only thirst and hunger. Nala's frame, once rippling with muscles and a shining coat, was thin. Hunting was still slim most anywhere she went, and hunger seemed to constantly gnaw at the lioness. Thirst was worse, traveling between kingdoms in careful watch for hyenas or unwelcoming lions, the lands drying up more each day. After wandering for weeks with little food, water, or a safe place to sleep, the Oasis of the Lowlands certainly did look like one. With a sigh of relief, Nala padded into the lush land, knowing the Lowlanders did not mind outsiders here, especially not female ones. It had occurred to Nala that she could simply join another pride, and one with such a rule as the Lowlanders was certainly appealing. But something kept her from seeking out a new family.

Her pride was still her responsibility, even if she technically held no claim over it anymore. The Pridelands were her home; she could not simply abandon them and the lionesses there to starve, while she found a new life elsewhere. Nala shuddered at the thought. She could never live with herself if that happened. But she felt content here, oddly, as if a great bleakness had been lifted from her, and for once the deep, hollow pain from her childhood did not throb. She almost felt guilty: yes, she had moved on from her best friend's death, but only because it would destroy her otherwise. But that did not mean she did not feel the ache every day, the loss settling deep inside her like a sickly chill. She had simply learned to deal with it. Yet, now, here, she was warm. Nala frowned, trying to pull that familiar pain back -- it was the only way she could feel Simba within her now.

Nala's throat was dry, however, and she focused enough of her attention on fixing that, trotting cautiously over to the water, eyes darting over the landscape. A bit paranoid from her lone travels, she was wary of any creatures nearby that may mean her harm, and it gave a certain twitch to her muscles, ready for a fight.

It had become increasingly common for Simba to stray from his trio of carefree bachelors, day or night. His elusive behavior did not go unnoticed by his adoptive ‘parents,’ Timon and Pumbaa, and the grown lion was aware that the meerkat and the warthog were probably worried about him. But what could be done? In all of the years the friends had spent together in the jungle, Simba had never come clean about his history. His saviors had never pressed the issue, and it was not something Simba was ready to admit, even after so long. Deep down, he felt certain that his friends would be horrified to know exactly what he had done to become an outcast. It was something far worse than laziness or flatulence; something unforgivable.

That day, he had excused himself from the group with no excuse at all. Simba no longer tried to explain his restless, the growing emptiness he felt inside. As he walked along a jungle river, he caught his reflection from the corner of his eye. The auburn shade of his mane was entirely Mufasa’s, anyone who knew the old king would guess this was his son, and the sight of it made Simba feel all the more lonely. What would the old king think of his only son, if only he could see him now? But Simba hated to think of this, because deep down, he know his father would be deeply disappointed. So this, along with all of the other unpleasant, sad memories had been pushed back to the far recesses of his brain, where they could be ignored.

But in those quiet, solitary moments, the past was likely to creep up on him. He didn’t know why he secluded himself then. Maybe subconsciously, he knew he deserved the pain that would resurface when he was alone with his thoughts. In the jungle, he was safe. He didn’t know what was happening in the Pridelands, and this is what he preferred. Little did he realize, a piece of home was right there, waiting to be discovered, looking for a savior of her own.

Beside the oasis, Nala was lapping at the small watering hole that Simba knew so well. But Simba was so lost in his own mind that he didn’t notice as he approached, and his feet moved quietly over the jungle floor, oblivious. The thick, moss covered trees and massive granite boulders obscured the lioness from view. Simba decided that a nice swim might offer some distraction. There was one rock in particular next to the water that angled just so that it made an excellent diving board. So the golden lion charged for the giant gray stone, galloping up its sharp incline at full speed. But he faltered when he was nearly to the top when he finally noticed the lioness resting there, below on the shore.

Instead of leaping into the water as he intended, Simba stopped short to avoid colliding head-on with the lioness and all four of his paws slipped on the slick moss growing on the boulder. He came tumbling awkwardly down, managing to land on his feet but only a short distance from the lioness; too close. His eyes met the other's, only inches away. For just a second, he mistakenly believed the creamy lioness was one of the Lowlanders, the local pride that had long tolerated his presence there in the oasis. It would be a rare occasion for one of the jungle lionesses to come this far. He shook his mane from before his eyes. And then like an epiphany, he suddenly recognized Nala, and it was like a blow to the stomach. He had encountered ghosts from his past before, but this was one he had never anticipated finding in the jungle.

Those eyes. They had haunted him in his sleep for years. It was more than the beautiful sea green hue, though undoubtedly, the lion had dreamt of them countless times. There had never been another cub as close to Simba as Nala had once been, and the memories came flooding back like a deluge. It was the fierce intelligence that flashed within her eyes that he remembered so well; the spark of unquenchable life that even in the worst trouble, were a source of strength and comfort. A thrill shot through his entire leonine frame as he looked at her, now fully grown and breathtaking, despite the way her bones protruded gently beneath her tawny fur from poor nutrition. She had escaped the Pridelands with her life.

For a minute or two, he could only stare with his mouth hanging ajar, looking rather foolish. He felt as if he was in a dream, and even the slightest movement would destroy the vision before him. He didn’t want to spoil it, to lose his old friend all over again. Finally, he managed to speak. "N-Nala?" He took a slow step backwards, disbelief and utter surprise clouding his garnet eyes. "Is it really you?"

The tension of weeks alone caused Nala to leap to the offensive as soon as she heard another nearby. She spun around, baring her teeth, just in time to come face to face with -- with -- Nala didn’t think, only reacted. He was far too close and the split second of surprise passed and the lion was still frozen so she took her chance. Snarling, Nala pinned the larger lion to the mossy ground, muscles twitching in preparation for a fight for her survival. But then, nothing happened. The lion only stared. Quieting, Nala returned the stare in confusion. Why did he not fight back?

Nala looked at him with a clearer, calmer mind, mouth open in amazement. “Mu--” She paused, years of being forbidden to say the name of her king making the word difficult, more so because that was preposterous. The lion had the same full, red mane and square muzzle, but Mufasa was long dead. She even remembered the ceremony. That, and she would’ve never caught Mufasa by surprise like this. The lion was still staring at her as if she were a ghost, and he gaze grew unnerving. Figuring him not a threat if he hadn’t fought back yet, Nala let him up, taking a step back. “Did no one teach you it’s rude to stare?” Nala snapped, uncomfortable and still on edge and -- who was this lion?

Then he said her name, amazed, and Nala stared back with a confused frown. He knew her. How did he know her? He couldn’t... “Who are you?” She voiced her previous thoughts, tensing, studying him further. He looked... familiar, his full, adult mane the same color of a lost friend’s little cub tuff... and his eyes...

Nala felt as if a zebra had just kicked her in the stomach. She stared wide-eyed at the lion, frozen in place. It took her a long moment to speak again, the breath stolen from her lungs. “You’re... but you’re dead.” Nala’s gaze shot around them, taking in the landscape -- was she hallucinating? Was hunger and thirst finally getting to her? Or perhaps she had died and never realized. Because otherwise, Simba would be standing before her, not in a dream, alive and healthy -- and Nala was hesitant to get her hopes up so high, in fear of what would happen if they were crushed once again.

The lion made no attempt to defend himself when Nala sprang and pinned the larger lion, as more memories of years gone by had come flooding back to Simba. Apparently she had not forgotten her notorious move, the one that had always left the young prince stunned and reluctantly defeated. When she moved away, he rose to his paws slowly, unable to remove his eyes from the lioness. He had realized she couldn't recognize him now, and the way she scrutinized him made him shift uncomfortably. A selfish sadness surfaced in Simba. How could she forget? But it was he who had left them all. It was no one's fault but his own.

He stood there still as stone, still staring in disbelief. Now so many conflicting feelings seized the golden lion that he wasn't certain if he should laugh with joy, or cry to see how much she had changed since his departure from the Pridelands. So many years had crept by, and they had missed out on each other's lives. He hadn't been there to witness her first hunt, but worse than that, he hadn't been there to help her or the rest of the pride. He knew that they had suffered in his absence. Finally, when she voiced her confusion, he responded in a voice desperate for recognition: "It's me, Simba." His big brown eyes were soft, pleading.

Then the reality of the situation seemed to hit Nala hard, and she looked as if she was in the presence of a ghost. But you're dead... Is that what they had come to believe in the Pridelands? "No. It's really me." Simba's features contorted and he looked down to the jungle floor as his mind continued to reel. Scar must have informed them long ago that Simba had also been killed, along with his heroic father in the stampede. It was just as well if they didn't know the truth, and he felt a moment's gratitude for his uncle, for keeping the details of the tragedy to himself. If Nala only knew what her old friend had done...

But she must never know, Simba was instantly resolute. Instead, he decided to embrace the excitement he felt inside to know that his oldest and dearest friend was alive and that she had found him, against all odds. For the first time in years, he felt a part of his old self return; the lion side of him that he had contained for the sake of his much smaller companions. A lion without a pride is a lion lost, and seeing Nala was indeed a dream come to life. It was a part of his own youth restored, and he couldn't contain his incredulous laughter over the improbable reunion. He bounced forward in a cubbish, playful manner. "How did you...? Wow! It's great to see you!" His smile stretched from ear to ear.