The Honest Roar

The sun warmed the wide, golden grass of Sunbright Savannah. Acacia trees threw friendly shade, and the lion pride stretched like sleepy kings and queens on smooth, warm rocks.

Kito, a young lion with soft whiskers and paws too big for his legs, stood tall on a bump of earth. He puffed his chest and tried a roar.

"Rrr—rr—roar!" he squeaked.

The grass gave a tiny shiver. A bird blinked. That was all.

Asha, Kito’s cousin, padded over and bumped him with her shoulder. "Brave try," she said. "You’ll grow into it."

Kito wanted to be brave now. He wanted a roar that rolled across the savannah like thunder. He wanted the kind of roar the leader, Big Boma, used every morning—the kind that said, We are here. We are strong. We take care of one another.

"Maybe I just need a place to practice," Kito muttered.

He wandered, swishing his tail, until he found a small cave in a hill of red rock. Its mouth was a dark oval. Inside, it was cool and echoey. Kito stood in the middle, pressed his paws into the sandy floor, and tried again.

"ROAR!" he shouted.

The cave caught his voice and sent it back bigger, deeper, booming. "ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!"

Kito jumped. His own roar sounded like a grown lion’s. He tried again, and the cave turned his little roar into a great big one. It felt like wearing a giant’s shoes.

Asha peeked in, eyes wide. "Kito! That was huge!"

Kito’s ears got hot. He knew the cave had helped, but the warm glow of Asha’s smile made his chest feel big. "Thanks," he said softly, and didn’t say more.

The next morning, the pride climbed Echoing Hill. It was the day of the Great Roar, when lions called out to greet the savannah and set a strong, safe circle of sound. Big Boma stood first. His mane was the color of firegrass at sunset, and his voice rolled out steady and sure.

"We are here. We are strong. We take care of one another," his roar seemed to say.

Kito’s turn came. His paws tingled. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be big. He slipped behind a ridge and into the little cave he had found.

"ROAR!" he called.

The sound leaped out, huge and powerful. Zebras lifted their heads. Warthogs froze. Birds flapped up in a whir of wings.

"Kito!" Asha cheered. The pride rumbled with happy surprise.

Kito smiled, but inside his belly, a tiny stone rolled around. He hadn’t told them about the cave.

Just then, a hot wind pressed across the grass. Dust lifted in a tan swirl. A zebra foal called out, thin and worried, from the far side of the hill. The wind pushed and pushed, and the foal’s mother called back, her voice torn into scraps by the gusts.

"We need a steady roar," Big Boma said. "A clear one to help guide them together. Kito? Will you help me lead it?"

Kito looked at the cave. He took a step toward it, then stopped. The little stone in his belly felt bigger.

He turned to Big Boma. "I… I used the cave," he said, the words small but true. "It makes my roar sound big. I wanted to be brave. I’m sorry."

The wind hissed. Dust tickled their noses. Asha pressed her paw against Kito’s. Big Boma’s eyes were kind.

"Thank you for telling me," said Big Boma. "A true roar comes from a brave heart, and brave hearts tell the truth. Stand with me on the rock. Use your own voice."

Kito climbed beside him. He planted his paws. He felt the warm rock underfoot. He felt the air in his chest. He saw the foal’s small shape through the spinning dust.

"Rrr—roar!" he called. It wasn’t huge. But it was clear. It was Kito.

Asha lifted her chin and roared with him. One by one, the pride joined. Their voices braided together—low, bright, strong, and true. The sound stretched across the savannah like a golden ribbon.

The zebra mother turned toward the voices. The foal answered, stepping carefully, guided by the steady sound. In moments, they touched noses, safe together again.

The wind softened. The dust fell. The savannah sighed.

Big Boma nuzzled Kito’s mane. "Your roar grew today," he said. "Not in loudness. In honesty."

Kito breathed in the warm, grassy air. The stone in his belly was gone. He looked back at the little cave and gave it a friendly wink.

"Thank you for the practice," he told it. "But I’ll use my own roar." He laughed, and the sound was small and bright and exactly right.

Asha bumped him again, grinning. "Brave try," she said. "Brave truth."

Kito lifted his head. He wasn’t the biggest lion. He wasn’t the loudest. But he stood tall, and his heart felt powerful. He roared, and this time, the savannah listened to Kito—honest, strong, and proud.