The Last Roar ( Previously "The Whitest Lioness")

7 - Pumbaa gives Zula "the talk" while Timon cries in the corner

"You want some more grubs?" Belched Pumbaa.
Zula glanced to where her uncle was sitting and sighed. Timidly, the lioness slinked to the upturned log and gingerly sniffed the insects squirming in the light, which was subtle and comforting under the shelter of the canopy.
"Alright," Zula grumbled, her mouth salivating at the thought of enjoying the taste of the crunchy beetles, "But none of those wriggling worms - I don't know why uncle Timon likes those."
The warthog known as Pumbaa laughed at Zula, whose nose was wrinkled in disgust, and dished out a dozen or so beetles onto the frond of a palm tree, which he pushed towards her with his flat snout. Pumbaa smiled, showing off his blunt white molars.
"I can handle them from time to time," Pumbaa shrugged, "They go down easily. Once they hit your belly, they wriggle for a bit more. So it's kind of like having a tummy rub but on the inside."
Zula laughed incredulously, "That's so gross."
Pumbaa smiled sagely, "What do you think we fed you when you were the smallest of cubs?"
Zula stuck out her tongue, "Don't remind me. I've got enough repulsive things to think about as it is."
Without another word, she tucked in to her squirming breakfast - the scuttling black beetles turning to mush under the force of her powerful jaws. She licked the frond clean of the excess beetle juice (please someone get the joke!) and pushed the frond back to the warthog who was watching her worriedly.
"What happened in the pride lands, Zula?" Pumbaa asked in concern, "You seem a little  different."
Zula frowned and slid onto her belly, resting her head on her large but skillful paws.
"Is that a bad thing?" Zula murmured, "That I'm different?"
Pumbaa sidled up to the lioness and rubbed his tusks against her in a caring nuzzle, which made her throat rumble in a low purr. He was quite a bit smaller than she was but he always managed to make her feel as if she was a cub again, sleeping in the crook of his neck and being lulled to sleep to the tune of 'the lion sleeps tonight'. Pumbaa had a lovely singing voice.
"I think it would be difficult if you were otherwise," Pumbaa whispered in his rich, resonant voice that soothed her. There in the cool shade, the lioness and the warthog lounged for a while in silence - enjoying the other's company. Letting their minds unwind each thread of thought.
"How did you meet uncle Timon?" Zula asked suddenly, her bright azure eyes glistening like the deepest shade of sapphire.
Pumbaa flushed and turned to face the eager lioness, "Well -"

"I knew you two were talking about me!" Timon bellowed, tiredly rubbing irritable circles into his dark drooping eyes. The meerkat yawned loudly, scratching his tawny pelt with his sharp claws, and scuttled to the log. Zula choked back a giggle when she saw his frazzled red hair standing up at odd ends on his scalp. Pumbaa had noticed it, too, and looked as if he was restraining the urge to fix the frazzled hair on his best friend's head. 
Timon clapped his paws together impatiently, "So, what's for breakfast?"
Zula and Pumbaa shared a secretive smile - it was already eleven o'clock.
The meerkat struggled to lift the log before he gave up and huffed, crossing his small arms over his torso. Pumba stifled a laugh and went over to help him. A few minutes later, Timon was up to his elbows with bugs - the crunchy kind and the wriggling kind.
"So, what were you two talking about me for?" Timon alleged between bites, smacking his lips together when he ate a particularly bitter beetle.
"Actually," Pumbaa amended, "Zula's been having some problems since she came back from the pride."
Timon stopped mid crunch, some pink ooze sloshing down his face and down his chest.
"Oh?" Timon said, "What with?"
Zula blushed under her uncles' scrutiny.
"It's nothing!" Zula tried to convince them, but Timon wasn't so easily persuaded - she would melt under his sceptical glare. She always did.
"Fess up, kid." Timon threatened with the rest of the bug in his fingers. His glare was hard, but she knew he was worried. Timon worried about her as if she was his own cub - only, he was more like a cautious mother than a carefree father.
"Fine." She admitted, defeated, "While I was there, I met the son of the king. His name is -"
Timon stood abruptly, his eyes bulging from his head and his chest heaving.
"A boy?" Timon gasped, horrified.
Zula rose an eyebrow, "Yes. Like I was saying, his name is -"
"YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO TALK TO BOYS!" Timon screamed, his small paws digging into his bright red hair. Zula, aghast, looked at Pumbaa who was nervously biting his shiny black nails.
"Timon," Pumba said weakly.
"WHAT?" Timon yelped.
"Have we - er - had that talk with her yet?" Pumba stammered.
Timon looked like he was about to start sobbing in hysterics, "What talk, Pumba? The don't-ever-ever-talk-to-boys-talk?I like that talk. "
Pumba grunted and lowered his voice to a whisper, " The talk. About the birds and the bees?"
Zula, confused, piped up, "Well, you did tell me something about that, actually."
Timon grimaced, "Y-yes? Wh-what did we say?"
"Buzzards are for chasing." Zula repeated from memory, "Bees are not for eating - stick to the grubs. Is that it?"
Timon face-planted into the dirt and started wailing.
"I think it's about time we had a talk with you." Pumba said grimly, "About boys."
Zula frowned.