Timon resisted the urge to groan. Of course he was grumpy. He was tried, he was hungry, and he had been forced into something he didn’t want to do. Doing something and wanting to do something were two completely different things, almost as different as it felt to be carrying someone on his back for once. Timon could not recall a time he had ever done so. Even when he had lived with his colony they had not trusted him nearly enough to be a babysitter to the pups.

“You don’t want their cooking, trust me. It’s, shall we say, an acquired taste. I wouldn’t be surprised if Flonne’s cooking were actually banned somewhere.” The meerkat stuck out his tongue in disgust. “It might look editable but that’s the last thing it is. Bugs, on the other hand, ain’t ever done me wrong. Except for that armoured cricket. Boy, had Pumbaa ever been sick after sluggin’ back a couple of those. Poor guy, all I found was they had a funky taste and were they ever messy! What, uh, do you eat?”