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  Soon the sheltering bushes gave way to whispering pygmy grass. When the kits dove into it to take cover, they found themselves in a sort of maze, criss-crossed by the pathways of mice and snakes. They pressed through, nervous of cobras and puff adders. Then, in order to reach the shade of the trees, they were forced to dash out into open ground again and leap from one hot rock to another. Crickets and grasshoppers flicked past them, and monarch butterflies swooped and dipped. Over their heads, parrots and birds of every color of the rainbow flapped and chattered.

  Once or twice they encountered creatures disguised as twigs and leaves. “Nice try!” said Skeema as he swallowed a bug that was pretending to be a small stone. “But your mama should have taught you not to wriggle. Yum!” He smacked his lips and put the idea into his memory bank. When danger comes and you can’t find a bolt hole, stand still as a stone near something the same color as you.

  After walking for a while, they found themselves darting among the trunks of ancient trees. Suddenly, they entered a sheltered space between the trees and the cliffs. The clearing was curved like a creature sleeping on its side, with the outstretched legs formed by low, flat rocks worn smooth by the backsides of generations of ancient Blah-blahs who sometimes came here to live secretly when times were too hard in the desert.

  “What is this place?” said Little Dream, looking around in awe.

  It was certainly unlike any place they had ever seen, but they were more wary than charmed by it. Ears, eyes, noses, whiskers—everything was on full alert.

  The ground was cool and trodden flat, always shaded by the trees, or by the shadow of the wall of cliff that rose up along the back.

  “FIRE!” hissed Skeema suddenly. He didn’t need to shout because Mimi and Little Dream had smelled the danger, too, and were standing quite still looking around for smoke and flames, ready to jump to safety.

  But the fire was not one that leaped out and hurt you. It was a small, dead one, caged by round stones and turned to ash. In the middle of it was the blackened hind leg of a large animal. Mimi, who was starving, took a little nibble at it and found there was goodness under the burnt shell. The others had a little taste and were soon feeling stronger and bolder. Then they decided to spread out and explore.

  It wasn’t long before their noses led them to something buried in a cool patch of sand, hidden under scattered leaves. Little Dream scrabbled with his digging claws and uncovered two enormous oval shapes that were almost as big as him. They had been buried standing up.

  “Ostrich eggs!” laughed Skeema.

  “Yes, but they have been opened and resealed!” said Mimi. “Look what’s inside!” She put her claws into a narrow crack and pulled the top off one of the eggs. “Water!” she exclaimed. “It’s fresh and cool and sweet. Taste it!” But the others were too excited and scuttled around to see what other treasures they could find, so she put the top back on and reburied the egg-wells.

  The entire time, wide eyes were watching from high in the branches of a tree. A boy (we shall call him Shadow) sat licking honey from his fingers. He did it slowly and carefully so that his white teeth would not shine and even his pink tongue stayed a secret. Wild bees buzzed around him and some were angry enough with him for stealing their honey to sting him, but still he did not move a muscle.

  He was curious to see what other things of his the meerkats would discover for themselves, and also—what would happen when the lion cub saw them.

  Chapter 6

  While Mimi sniffed the nut shells and fruit skins that were scattered around the fire, Skeema’s attention was taken by a bunch of pretty feathers, porcupine quills, and some thin, hollow bones that lay farther off. There were also some skins, soft as rabbits’ fur, lying about. “Springhares,” thought Skeema, remembering the way they sometimes leaped, like crazy little springboks, past the entrance to Far Burrow as night was falling. “Fast,” he thought, “but obviously not fast enough.”

  Mimi found a little string of white beads—she had seen a female Click-click wearing something like this around her neck! She tried it on. It fit her head perfectly! She also found a little pouch made of soft animal skin. It was decorated with shiny pieces of smooth glass and sewn together with fine woven grass. She peeked into it, thinking that perhaps she might find something to eat. In fact, it was full of little pieces of broken ostrich shell, all brightly painted in different colors. Together they shone like feathers on a Kalahari kingfisher.

  Skeema stifled a cry as he discovered a parcel, made of a folded broad leaf and wrapped with fat caterpillars, some fresh roots and tubers (full of juice), and a batch of tiny weaver bird eggs. He cracked one and sucked it dry. Delicious! He thought about telling Mimi what he had discovered, but when he looked across and saw that she was chewing at something, it gave him a good excuse to be greedy and keep quiet.

  The pouch, it seemed, had a horrid, bitter taste. Mimi began to cough and spit.

  “Come up here!” called Little Dream. “I’ve found something wonderful! And you can cool your tongue, Mimi!”

  Mimi and Skeema saw that he was up on a ledge where a thorn hedge was growing against the cliff. They followed a little path up to where Little Dream was, and found that he had discovered some rocks that oozed water. Meerkats can do without water, so long as there’s plenty of juice in what they eat—but when they find it, they’re always thankful for a drink. Gratefully, Mimi ran her tongue over the dripping moss and got rid of the horrid taste in her mouth.

  “I found some running water farther up the cliff,” said Little Dream. “It bubbles up from the rocks there—but this is lovely to lick, isn’t it? And look here…” He led them behind the thorn hedge and showed them the entrance to a cave. The smooth, gold-colored walls were bright with red shapes outlined in black. “What do those shapes remind you of?” he asked.

  “That one looks like a teeny giraffe!” said Mimi. “And there’s a wildebeest—and an elephant…”

  “And some prancing springbok, look!” added Little Dream. “And hippos, and a porcupine…”

  “I can’t see me, me!” said Mimi. “Can anyone see a meerkat?” She was disappointed not to find a single one.

  “I like that shape that looks like a Blah-blah with a sharp stick!” cried Skeema, ignoring her.

  They were enchanted. They thought they were very clever to be able to see animals in the black-and-red shapes on the walls. They thought they were a beautiful accident. They had no idea that they had been painted by a boy who carried a spear, who loved to make beads from pieces of glass and broken ostrich shell; a boy who respected all creatures and wished to learn from them; a boy who thought it was fair to be stung by bees if you stole their honey.

  The kits stood in a sort of trance—which is why they almost jumped out of their skins when they heard a low growl from somewhere deep inside the cave.

  Chapter 7

  “LION!” screamed Mimi. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Mimi and Skeema rushed back to the cave-entrance, but Little Dream didn’t move.

  “Wup-wup! Run for your life, Dreamie!” urged Skeema.

  “Hush!” said Little Dream, and he was so calm, determined, and serious, that even in their panic, Mimi and Skeema stood quiet and still.

  “Mama!” rumbled the voice. It sounded very weak. “Help me.”

  “It’s a trick!” cried Skeema. “Take no notice!”

  “We’ve followed him all this way,” said Little Dream. “He’s calling for Mama. She must be around somewhere.” And he rushed into the darkness.

  “It’s HIS mama he wants, not ours, you silly thing!” wailed Skeema. But when they realized that Little Dream was putting himself in danger, he and Mimi rushed to support him. Their war cries—and the shrill squeaks that the Snap-snap made as Skeema held him up and squeezed him—sounded extra loud and fearsome in the echoing gloom of the cave.

  As it turned out, the lion cub didn’t even have the strength to crawl, let alone to plan a meerkat supper. He lay on his
side, with hardly a spark of life in the slits of his poor, bloodshot eyes. His tongue lolled from his mouth. He only had breath in him to pant, and none left over to answer a single question.

  “Look how thin he is. He’s starving,” murmured Mimi. “He needs food.”

  “Yes, but look at the size of him!” warned Skeema. “Look at his claws! Look how big his mouth is! He could swallow us all in one gulp!”

  “He’s too weak,” said Mimi. There was pity in her voice. “And he’s only a baby like me, really.”

  “Like us,” chorused her brothers.

  Little Dream had a suggestion. “Why don’t we feed him, then run away—and then ask him if he can tell us anything about Mama?”

  “That is a totally nutty idea, Dreamie!” scoffed Skeema. “How can we run away and then ask him questions?”

  “Oh,” said Little Dream, feeling foolish. “I didn’t mean a long way away.”

  “Listen, I agree that we ought to try to find out what he’s doing here,” Skeema continued. “And he’s not going to last much longer if we don’t get some food into him. But what are we going to feed him?”

  “The meat!” cried Mimi, remembering the blackened leg in the ashes down below. “Come on, everyone!”

  The kits skittered down the rocky path to the clearing and tried to lift the leg that had been cooked in the fire, but it was too heavy to carry, even for the three of them.

  “It’s no good. We’ll just have to take him some eggs,” said Skeema, adding a little sheepishly that he had come across a small hoard of them earlier.

  “Well, you’re the oldest,” Mimi reminded Skeema. “You take some to him.”

  “I’m only the oldest by a few heartbeats!” he responded.

  “Yes, but you’re the fastest. Run over and put an egg down under his nose.”

  Skeema hesitated.

  “I dare you,” urged Mimi.

  That did it. He couldn’t resist a dare. “Here goes,” he whispered. “Wish me luck!” And off he scampered on his mission.

  *

  For a second the cub’s eyelids flickered. That stopped Skeema in his tracks. Then the cub’s nostrils opened and closed. Then he was still.

  “He’s out cold,” said Skeema, letting his breath out in a rush of relief. “I think the only thing to do is for one of us to hold his mouth open while the others feed him.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Little Dream. “B-but who’s going to…?”

  “Oh, come on—I’ll do it,” said Skeema. “You bring some more eggs.” He tiptoed forward a few paces. Stopped. Took a deep breath. Raised his front paws over his head and did a little hip-wiggling shimmy. Mimi and Little Dream got ready to drop their eggs and run.

  Nothing. Not a twitch.

  “Stand by,” whispered Skeema. He stood with his back to the cub’s slack mouth, put his feet on the bottom jaw, and heaved up against the top jaw like a little weight lifter, straining every muscle.

  Bit by bit, the cub’s mouth split open revealing scarily sharp teeth.

  “Go for it!” urged Skeema, and Mimi and Little Dream cracked a couple of eggs on his bottom fangs. Quickly they smeared the sticky goodness all over his dry, swollen tongue. “Jump back!” yelled Skeema and sprang free himself, as the jaws snapped shut.

  That seemed to do the trick. The cub began to suck and smack his lips like a newborn taking milk from its mother. Patiently and bravely, the team continued feeding him. After a long while they managed to get him to swallow all the eggs and even the caterpillars. He began to stir a little and soon he had the strength to spit out the bulbs and tubers that the kits popped into his mouth. “Yuck!” he groaned.

  The kits fled to a safe distance. There was a pause and then Mimi said. “You should eat your vegetables.”

  “Hush, Mimi,” said Skeema. “He’s a carnivore, you know, not an omnivore like us!” Then he added kindly to the cub, “can you get up now?”

  He got a groan for an answer, but that was something.

  “Come along,” said Little Dream. “Get up and we’ll take you to some water. Do you promise not to eat us?”

  “Hmmmm,” rumbled the cub, and they took that for a yes.

  They crawled underneath the cub’s belly and jogged and nudged and nipped and tickled him until at last he struggled on to his paws. Then they jostled and tugged him by his ears until they got him outside by the dripping rocks, where slowly and with some difficulty, the little cub lapped up some of the moisture. That put a little more of a spark into him and slowly, patiently, they led him down the rocky path to the clearing and uncovered the two reburied ostrich egg-wells.

  “Dip your tongue in this!” said Mimi, lifting the top off one. The cub didn’t need another invitation. He slapped and slurped and splashed with such excitement that the kits got a shower.

  “Feeling stronger?” giggled Mimi.

  The cub almost managed to say thank you, though it came out as Nang-oooo…

  “Are you sure you’re not going to attack us?” ventured Skeema, wondering if this was a trick.

  The cub was still very dazed and weak but he managed to whisper, “What d’you take me for? A sneaking snake? A jackal?”

  “I trust you,” said Mimi. “Come with me. Take your time.”

  Slowly, they led him to where the leg lay in the ashes. He shied away from the fiery smell at first, but they showed him the meat under the black crust and in a flash he got busy with his razor-sharp claws and scraped it clean.

  The kits watched him eat, spellbound by his steady concentration and amazed by the noises he made. Hmmm. Prrrr. Yershhhhh. Glub. Ahhhh.

  He seemed to be sleep-eating. It was only when the bone was licked clean that he gave a sudden twitch that ran through his entire body. And suddenly he was himself again. He ran his rough tongue around his chops and sighed. “Nice,” he said, and slowly turned his yellow eyes on Skeema, Mimi, and Little Dream.

  Chapter 8

  For a moment the kits were unable to move. The calm, unblinking stare of his burning eyes drained the strength out of them. The eyes narrowed and the lion cub’s wide mouth sprang open like a trap. They braced themselves for the roar that would knock them down like dry leaves. And then he yawned. After that he shook himself noisily.

  He suddenly realized how terrified the meerkats were. “I’m so sorry!” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. You needn’t worry about me pouncing on you. Have you never heard the saying—Feed a cat and he’ll be your friend for life? No? Well it’s true—and besides, I gave you my word. Elephants never forget, they say, and lions never break promises.”

  “We believe you,” said Little Dream. “So… friend… we’re looking for… someone. And we thought, well, I thought, you might be able to help us find her. Can you tell us what you’re doing here?”

  “I was running and running,” the cub explained as if they were all in the middle of a conversation. “I was with my mama and my four aunts. We hadn’t had a kill for… I can’t remember. Anyway, we waited at the waterhole… the dry waterhole… nearly dry. My mama said that eland might come for a drink. Or zebra. And she was right. But they smelled us hiding in the grass and they ran. Such a long way they ran, and so fast. My legs were too small and too weak.” He paused to give one of his legs a lick so that the kits would understand. A tear splashed.

  “I roared and I roared!” he said. “But they didn’t hear me. They were too far ahead. And I must have gone the wrong way… I smelled water and ended up…”

  He couldn’t say any more, so Skeema said it for him. “So you found a safe place to rest — but you lost your mama. Yes?”

  He nodded.

  “We’re looking for our mama too,” said Little Dream. “She’s a Wanderer. I heard her calling to me in a dream. And in my dream I saw pawprints across a salt pan and I had to follow them. So when I saw your actual pawprints, I just had to see what was at the end of them. And it was you.”

  “When did you lose your mama?” sniffed the cub.

 
; “When I was very little,” added Mimi. “But I still feel bad about it. So don’t worry. I’ll help you find your mama and that’s a promise from Mimi.”

  “From us!” corrected Skeema. “We’ll help you find her. All of us.”

  “That’s what I said,” said Mimi. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “My faraway name is GRRRROOOOAAAAAHHH!” roared the cub, blowing their fur around as he said it. “And my close-up name is Griff,” he added less alarmingly. “Which one do you like better?”

  All the kits agreed they liked Griff better, so that was that.

  It was getting cool. Then, puff! The sun blew out like a birthday candle and the Kalahari night came down like The Silent Enemy. One moment it was hot; then it rapidly got chilly. The jackals started up. And so did the screech owls. The kits moved close together for warmth and listened while Griff told them about the Land of the Whispering Grasses, where he roamed with his mama and her sisters.

  They were fine hunters, he told them, and not even scared of the terrible horns of the buffalo and the wildebeests. When there was nothing to hunt, his aunts took turns feeding him their milk. And when they found a zebra or a buck, they tried to teach him how to be part of a team that could creep and lie patiently, and then chase and chase until the creature was weak enough to kill. “I was ashamed because I was too little to help,” he said. “But they always invited me to their feasts. And when the jackals snuck up, knocked me over, and stole my portion, they said not to worry. Mama said that if I study hard, one day I will grow big and strong and scatter my enemies with the loudness of my roar. They said that one day I’ll be able to outrun them all. But now they’re gone. I’ve lost them. What shall I do?”