A blue-grayish faint glow lay over the sea of grasses that shivered in the breeze, making waves across the rushing surface of the savanna. It was unusually quiet that night. The event of the dry season and the cold windy nights it brought had silenced most of the denizens of the savannah wilderness that would usually be out foraging and hunting during the nocturnal hours. It seemed as if no life was about. None, save for the little form atop a worn dirt mound.

It was much too chilly to be out and the little furry body needed earnestly to conserve warmth in the cold but sheltered tunnels below. Yet he was there at the entrance overlooking the wasteland around him. The little meerkat shivered. He felt the tingling sting, not just from the cold, but from various welts and bloody abrasions where he had been beaten. Around him, the grass blew indifferently in the waves of the icy wind and the little burrow mound sat adrift like a tiny island in an abyssmal ocean. The moon leered gray and spiteful above.

Timon felt a bitterness rush up his throat, swell behind his eyes. There was no one here. The stale, empty tunnels beneath him held no warm company, no beating hearts like those he would fall asleep to the sound of long ago when he curled up with the clan on these cold nights. That was far in the past, as he had been continuously pushed away. Now the banishing seemed to finally be complete. Even his mother was not with him. For a long time, she had been the only meerkat that still slept with him at night in a disused corner of the burrow. But even now, her selfless care could not reach him now. The events that morning played persistently with a hateful clarity in his mind. The dry morning, his hunger- How he found a large grub to devour. Those cruel males tackling him, scent-marking, urinating on him. Their sharp barking ringing his ears as the grub was pulled from his grasp. He had been humiliated again, his food stolen, his spirit crushed again. And all by those males who were younger than him. Then how he rose in pain and rage, screaming out-
"IT'S NOT RIGHT! IT'S NOT RIGHT!!"

Hot tears ran from him as the darkness crept over Timon's mind. The alpha female was upon him in a flash as soon as he lashed out the words. Teeth gnashing, cutting, her paws pounding his body, his face. Blood coursing out through his pelt, across her demon-like jaws, into his eyes. He cried out pleading, begging All around him he saw through the red in is eyes- uncaring faces-watching. Nothing. This is what he got for defying her pups. His mother powerless by the side, her stubby paws up to her face, tears pouring like rain. Nothing.

He struggled, twisting himself, teeth tearing into his back. With all the strength his little body could give, he fought to free himself. Kicking, trashing in all desperation- and for nothing. She had him, she was too strong for him, she was empirical and she could maul him as much as she thought fit. And that she did, until she finally released her cruel hold. With what he had, he ran. He ran far from all the accusing faces, that vile clan. He ran off into the ocean of grass that made up the abyss around them.

Timon shivered with the cold and with the pain that consumed his soul. A little furry body huddled at the entrance to an abandoned burrow, riding the frozen savannah night. He sat there until his tears finally subsided for the time being. Feeling the cold moving now from his frozen extremities and to his precious core, the meerkat turned and crawled back into the lonely shelter below. Before he even was in his fitful sleep, Timon was already dreaming of his mother nursing his wounds, cuddling up with him, caring while the universe was against him.

---

Timon had been born into his clan a long time ago back when there was a long period of drought. His mother and father were not the dominant family and therefore were limited in the amount of litters they could have, preferably none. Still, she had interloped with his father, a lone meerkat, and soon gave birth to pups. The event was met at first with disdain from the other members, but with only one pup out of that litter, they were gratefully not driven out, no small part due to his interloping father offering to assist in the raising and feeding of young Timon. As he grew older, it became clear he was shyer and more runtish than the rest of the pups, often prone to hanging out with his parents and feeding on his own. Still, he had a more gentle disposition than the other young meerkats and a strange sense of fairness uncommon in meerkat clans. ?He was generous and friendly, doing what he could to help out for the group, despite his timid physique. ?During this time, Timon was usually dominated over, but still he was accepted and loved by most of the clan. As a teenager, he was not very good at foraging and was poor at digging despite how he tried. He also had some strange curiosities like a need for cleanliness, gathering wildflowers to sniff or line his parents' den, and being picky about the bugs he ate. He preferred soft grubs and worms to the crunchy locust and scorpions. He even was known to eat grains off the grasses for some inexplicable reason. He also was very picky about his footpaws. He tried to avoid excessively rough dirt and sharp nettles and would spend various moments of the day grooming and massaging them. He also used the juice of a succulent plant to rub on them and keep his pawpads moisturized and soft in texture, avoiding calluses. Many thought Timon's odd behaviors were useless and silly. Still he always had his heart in the right place and was tolerated so long as he put out some effort for the group. That usually was in the form of babysitting duty. Being as gentle and fair-minded as he was, Timon was well suited for minding the clan's pups while they were out foraging. He took this subordinate position happily, finding it fun and rewarding to care for the pups as well as a good opportunity to work on the care of his footpaws. Up until the end of his teenage years, Timon was quite content with his life. But sorrows come to all, and for him, fate was soon to bring them down upon his life.

It was around the end of the long drought that his father was taken from him. Never truly being a member of the clan, he was used to a life as an interloper. Eventually the dangers of that caught up with him when he was set upon one morning by a pack of hyenas. They had seen him the night before staying in an old burrow and waited to ambush when he arose in the morning. It was said that the hyenas fought over him, nearly pulling him apart until one got him and swallowed him whole.

The tragedy crushed Timon's little family and left a great emptiness in their hearts that they would never again fill. Despite being the lone meerkat he was, his father was noble and even stayed put to ensure Timon's development into a young adult. He and him mom would never forget that loving creature.

As the drought reached its end and food became more abundant, the clan was well off and needed little effort to take care of themselves. The dominant female began to make many litters and the number of clan members soon swelled. With wealth and luxury abundant, the clan needed less to rely on each other for survival and their bonds began to get more shaky. Mini clans were formed in the group, meerkats would began to hoard food for just themselves, and confrontations became more common. As the members became more aggressive and less tolerant, Timon mound himself the victim of much ridicule and spite. They harassed him for his odd behaviors, they stole his food, they picked on him and often ganged up on him, and generally began to refer to him as a useless parasite' within the clan. The massive sleeping huddle of the group became more excessive and let him only sleep on the outer edges. Eventually, they drove him away to another corner of the den they used for trash. Only his mother stayed by his side, caring for him, foraging with him, and sleeping with him at night to keep him warm. By this point, the mean harassment of the clan began to give way to occasional physical attacks, which Timon was not suited in the least to. Eventually, it became clear the majority of the clan cared not if he would survive and wanted him out.

Through all of this agonizing time, Timon's mom was always at his side, always concerned for him. But she felt that the wishes and interest of the clan were unmovable and figured the only way to help he son was to try and change his odd personality and at least live a subordinate life that was tolerated by the clan. She tenderly tried to discourage his flower collecting, his timid personality, and his excessive footcare. It was to little avail. Timon was set deep in his habits and each time they tried to kick them, it only ended in pain and sadness. Timon, restricted from going out to get his succulent plant during the day actually snuck out one night, got lost, and narrowly escaped the clutches of a huge owl. Afterwards he huddles up in his den, crying while applying the juices to his feet. She wept too. She wanted him to change, even though she knew it would be denying who he was. She only wanted him to be happy and safe. Why did fate have to come to this ?

---

The day's morning was chilly under a clear sky. Timon slowly emerged out of his sad burrow, sitting before the sun to warm himself. He had been gone for near a week from his clan, from his mom. He was hungry and was having difficulty finding food. He cared not if it was grub or locust anymore. His clean, soft footpaws were now a disadvantage, easily hurt on the harsh savannah ground. The thorough care and attention they had known was now cased aside as they became ravaged painfully by the land. Timon had spent a long time thinking over his life and the cruel realities that brought
him to this. He had been thinking about what was ahead for him, if anything. Eventually, a new resolve came over him. After longing so much to be once again in that warmth of the pack, he found that he no longer wanted to return, even though he knew that survival on his own was unlikely. It was strange. He knew that choosing to leave would most likely lead his ill-prepared self to death, yet he decided that he would leave anyways. He had once known warmth. He had once known love. Eventually that was slowly taken from him as the coldness grew around him. Perhaps this was what was meant to be for him. The coldness was his destiny and he needed to accept it. This was the logical end to a timid soul's life. To be consumed by the wasteland, the darkness- alone.

"Much like my dad," Timon suddenly said to himself.

It was done. He knew his fate. This is what had to be. This is what was meant to be. It won't be long now-

But one last thing remained to be done.

-he had to say goodbye.

---

Warmth again, a beating heart. Timon embraced his mother tightly as she sobbed softly into his shoulder. Tears ran from his eyes again and down his furry cheek, gently falling onto his mom. He patted her gently, now the giver of comfort. They held each other like the days he was an infant, like the years he was outcast. Now it was for the last time, and they made it last. Only he knew this though, how there was no hope for him, but he did not want her to know this revelation. So kindly and bravely Timon spoke to her, telling of his resolve to leave and find his own way. At least she can forever believe that he had found a place for him somewhere. The embrace ended.

"Mom, it is time for me to go."

She nodded for a second, but then her eyes pleaded.

"Oh sweetie- I had talked as much as I can with them. sob" her voice shrill and stuttering. "I tried and they said that you can come back if you just live in the far back tunnel and clean the trash and bugs out of the burrow. But I can help you! We can stay together and I'll help you clean.. and-"

"Mom!" he firmly cut her off. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. Timon looked into her, and cursed the world that brought this terrible sorrow to her. But he was brave and carefully took her hands in his, looking into her eyes. He had to do this for her.

"I have to do this, mom. I need to find my own way. That is the way it has always been."

Tears began to flow fresh from her eyes again. He smiled compassionately to her.

"It's ok. I'll be allright. I find where I belong out there. I'm sure of it."

Timon held his mom close together in warmth. He then gently bent his head forward and softly kissed her lips.

"I'll always remember you."

Timon turned around and crawled on fours out of the little trash tunnel. He had to get out before the others would get up. Carefully he snuck through the expanse of the den and to one of the back entrances. The morning light wove in bands just above him with a pale blue sky above them. As he crawled to the exit, his mother cried out just behind him.

"Timon- honey!"

He looked back at his mom's desperate face just behind him.

"-honey, will I ever see you again?"

He knew this had to end. "I really don't know mom, but don't worry, I'll be fine. I love you."

He turned his head back.

"But honey! choke w-where will you go?" she stuttered.

Timon looked back at her with a sad but resolved look on his face and into her eyes. There was a pause. He then raised his right foot and stretched it out behind him, with his sole just in front of her, holding it there. She smiled.

"Yes, honey, those are quite lovely.." she said with a soft giggle. "-but where will you go?"

Timon crawled out of the hole and disappeared into the long grass.

---

The sand was like fire as it blew across Timon's thin face. Another sandstorm had risen up and frantically he searched for shelter. It crusted in his eyes, blew up his nostrils. Dealt out its punishment upon the hapless starved creature that was ill-prepared to handle it. The justice of nature, unsympathetic, blind to all tears, serving only those that could adapt and prevail. The weak and timid are trampled under.

That night was even colder than ever before. Perhaps it was the coldness within him that made the shivering futile, the abandoned ground squirrel burrow unsuitable. Nothing could warm this little furry body anymore. Frosty mist gathered at his face as he lay curled up among the litter filling the tunnel.

"This is it- Since my birth, this is the fate destined to me, and all the other timid souls-."
He closed his eyes. A sleep he knew may never yield to another dawn-

---

Is this it?

Is this the fate to all meek creatures, to be crushed under the weight of the world To freeze, to vanish, in some lost huddle, into some bleak oblivion Is there no room for compassion, for empathy Should the tender, the gentle die like this It this nature?

Is this fate?

Fortunately for Timon, this is not the final chapter of his life. Fate is cruel and uncaring. Yet, there is one force in the world that might be able to defy it. One spirit. One cognitive motion. It may come, an angel out of the dark some call misguided or foolhardy. But some of those touched by it, those who heed it and accept its gift of strength, those ones call it a savior sublime. And that it did come to him. Not by fates hand, but by the sentient heart.