TIGER by Evelyn J. Steward (rm book recommendations .txt) 📕

Tiger

I pad over the hot sand and wade into the water, lying down at the edge where it is shallow, my belly immersed in the cooling liquid. It is hotter now and my thick coat makes me pant. I hang my head and gently lap at the water between my paws. The sweet liquid is cool here under the shade of trees. As it drips from my tongue, my thirst is quenched.
I let my tongue loll from my mouth, then the drops drain down onto my heaving chest. I am cooled. Refreshed.
Sitting in the water makes me sleepy. My eyes almost close in the sultry air. I sniff at the strange and familiar smells that waft across my nostrils.
Fat buck. Samba. Too healthy!
Better wait until I am less tired. When it is cooler. Better to wait for an injured animal or some old buck not so quick-witted. Better still, a young calf. Tender, succulent. Easy prey. A fresh calf that wanders in the open groves, enticing me.
Flies buzz around my muzzle - too soon for the feast.
I shake my head and they cloud above me.
It is too hot to snap at them. I lay my head on my paws and doze.
I have done sleeping. A yawn. A stretch. Movement in my limbs. The sun is lower and a cooling breeze has begun.
Birds squawk above my head as I climb out of the water, move stealthily through the dappled shade of the mangrove jungle. They squawk at the movement of the water, for they -
cannot see me as I disappear between the long mangrove tangle. Saline pools mirror my passing. My stripes blend in the shadows and I am at one with my surroundings.
My nostrils flair as I pick up the unmistakable gangrenous reek of injury, hear the bleat of pain. Cautiously, I pad further into the crossed mangrove branches, they part as I push through.
A female. I smell her scent. She has no sharp horns to hurt me. I let my tongue taste the air, her wound is moist. She has fallen among the sharp mangrove roots and lies in the water, too sickly to move. An easy kill.
Trotting along the water's edge, I raise my nose to the breeze and smell her fear. My silent paws pick up speed. I just have to sprint across the bare sand beyond the jungle's edge when I hear the snarl of another of my kind.
This other has a special smell. My daughter. Two seasons old. She too has caught the panic of the deer.
We both skid to a halt. The dry sand sprays high in front of me, blurring my vision. Daughter no longer, this other is enemy now.
We eye each other's size and closeness to the prey. She is nearer. I am larger, stronger still. She senses my strength, retreats back into the shadow. As I pass, she mews lightly. She remembers my scent and gives way. I snarl my victory.
Slowly, I edge closer to the deer, still watching the forest to see if this other will follow. She starts to move towards me.


- Tiger -
I throat my displeasure. She retreats once more, acknowledging my ear flashes, realising the futility of attack.
T he deer squeals as I sink my teeth into her hot flesh, rending her flank. The wound is fetid. Death stares from her terrified eyes.
I change position for the throat. I will kill her fast.
The blood is salty, fresh-tasting at the throat. She was young.
There will be enough left to feed my daughter when I am done.

© Copyright. Evelyn J. Steward. January, 1997.

Publication Date: 04-08-2011

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