That hadn’t been what Timon meant but he made no effort to correct the warthog. He had used the last of his patients with Kiara when he’d put up a strong front. Kovu was surely just as stressed and with shorter fuses between both Kovu and himself, one was likely to bite the others head off. Timon didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t want to talk Kiara. And part of him only wanted to bury himself in Pumbaa’s embrace and hide there in wait of Simba’s awakening. Maybe by then everything would somehow fix itself and be nothing but forgotten problems of the past.

“Nah, it’s probably better he rests.” He replied, seating himself on the ground. Simba was probably in a better place in his dreams than he would find himself here when he awoke. “Maybe he’ll actually get a good night’s sleep.” Pumbaa may not have been woken by Simba’s nightmares but Timon had more than enough to recognize the distinct lack of sleep the lion got some nights.

Pulling his knees close, the meerkat crossed his arms over them and buried his face in the small crook he’d produced. A sigh escaped him, as well a series of mutters before he fell silent. After a moment, his small form began to tremble, Timon finally allowing the waterworks to run.

“Why is this happening?” he choked out, not really expecting an answer. He’d waited forever for his friends to arrive and for what? Just to see them get hurt? “It’s not fair.” Bad things were happening and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn his back on the world, this world, he had to sit and watch.