Page 36 of Tiger's Tale
Clapping his gloved hands against each other to warm them, he glanced at the sun and at her, then said, “Well, then. I’m going to gather up some supplies for the two of us and try to suss out a plan for you. I shouldn’t be gone for more than a half a day. There are just a few supplies I might be needing. And I ought to check a few traps to see if I can snatch up some dinner for the two of us. Best rest up in the meantime, my kotenok.”
Veru listened until she couldn’t hear him anymore, and then she finally laid down, putting her head on her paws. As she waited for him to return, she was surprised to realize that not only had she not thought of Stacia or Nik the whole time she’d been with the young man but she hadn’t even thought of her wound.
12
A SINGLE TREE MAKES NO FOREST; ONE STRING MAKES NO MUSIC
Time passed slowly as Veru waited for the young man’s return, and she drowsed in the shadows of the pit while at the same time keeping her ears flicking back and forth for any signs of his heavy footsteps. Once she heard the faint sounds of something but realized it was the scurrying of a small creature. Its scent was sharp and almost bitter, and it hit the back of her nose like garlic or onion.
It dug a hole into her pit and stuck its whiskered muzzle in and looked around. Deciding to emerge, it was halfway out of the hole when all at once it seemed to catch sight or smell of her because it froze, its front feet dangling in midair. Veru huffed at the brown-and-white furball, and the brave thing bared some impressively long teeth and squeaked at her threateningly before hastily wriggling backward and tunneling away.
I wonder what those would taste like, she thought.Probably onions. She’d eaten wild game with her soldiers before, but she’d never thought of lemmings or other small burrowing creatures with such disinterest. As a tiger, she looked at such a tiny thing and knew instinctively that it wasn’t worth spending her energy.
Even if it walked right into her mouth, and she swallowed it whole, the amount of fur and bones versus meat and fat was disproportionate. Eating it would probably give her tremendous gut pain. All those tiny bones would only serve to get caught in her teeth or jaws. They might even puncture her stomach or throat. The fur could make her gag, and consuming a live animal, though markedly easier, could damage her going down. Only a wounded or desperate cat would try to hunt such an animal. She was built for much larger prey.
Just then, her long, lean stomach rumbled, reminding her that she was indeed wounded and desperate. Perhaps if the lemming returned she’d risk a bellyache to fill the emptiness. In fact, Veru was stretching as far as she could, trying to see into the dark little hole, sniffing for traces of the long-gone lemming, when she heard the heavy footfalls of the young man returning. She collapsed down into a sitting position again and waited for his face to appear at the top of the pit.
“Privet, krasivye tiger. Are you hungry? I’ve brought food,” he said from atop the ledge.
She could hear him busily gathering wood to get a fire going. Veru realized then how cold the weather had become. Though she was fairly protected from the wind being trapped within her deep dirt walls, even so, a gust swept inside on occasion and ruffled even her thick coat of winter fur.
The young man was dressed warmly in a parka and a balaclava, but he’d surely need a fire and possibly a tent if he meant to spend the night outside. After he got his little fire started, and she heard the crackles and smelled the scents of pine, grass, and woodsmoke, he squinted down at her in the shadows.
“Good. Your dish is still upright. Look out now. I’m pouring your water.”
He emptied what must have been a full skein of water and then, when she’d licked the dish dry, a second.It must have been heavy for him to carry that much water, she thought. In addition, he tossed the bodies of four cleaned rabbits, their fur, heads, and legs removed, as well as two other small mammals she couldn’t identify.
“It’s not much for one of your size,” he admitted as he watched her scoop up one after another, crunching bones and swallowing her meal in large bites. “But it should get you through the night at least.”
He disappeared again, and she heard him fussing by the fire. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I saved one for myself.”
Soon Veru smelled the aroma of animal fat as it hit and sizzled on hot coals. Normally, such a thing would make her salivate. Instead, she laid down, her meal finished, and licked the remains from her paws and around her mouth as best she could.It’s a waste what he’s doing, she thought.All that delicious fat is seasoning the wood and the air instead of lining his belly. And the marrow in the bones is dripping out and away from the meat. He’ll need to eat again far too soon. If he ate like a tiger instead, he’d be far healthier.
Veru, sated and sleepy, rolled to her side and wondered if she was going to think like a tiger from now on. How odd would it be if she turned human again and began serving raw meat at dinner parties? Still, there was some truth to idea that the lifeblood of the animal was wasted when cooking. Perhaps there was a happy medium where meat could be cooked partway.
She listened to the young man eat, and when he was finished, he tossed his bones into the pit in her general direction. Veru sniffed at them but didn’t eat them, except for one cooked leg he didn’t finish. Then he shuffled around a bit, digging in his bag. Setting it aside, he sat on the lip of the pit with his long legs dangling over the edge, placing a strange round instrument on his lap, a kind Veru had never seen before.
“Would you like some music to soothe you to sleep, little tiger? Perhaps it will take your mind off that steel trap around your ankle, eh? I promise I’ll figure out a way to get that off for you tomorrow.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, “I’ll admit—I’m not quite certain at this point exactly how I’m going to do it. Perhaps if I pray for an answer, something will come to me, eh? My papa usually sends me an inspirational dream when I ask for one. He is my guardian angel, after all. Speaking of which...”
He held up the instrument. “This here belonged to my father. He invented it. And always told me he was inspired by his guardian angel, his papa, my dedushka. Both of my parents were musicians, you see. Making and playing instruments was a skill passed down in our family.
“Many generations ago, my shepherd ancestors created the first musical instrument in our country. It was a pipe called a rozhok. At first they used it to herd and call sheep, but then they learned that different shapes and trees made new sounds. Music became the main source of our income. My family played at festivals, weddings, holidays, and all other celebrations.
“My dedushka was particularly skilled at playing the garmoshka. I can do a passable job with that one, but it’s not my favorite. All he ever wanted to do before he passed on was to obtain a commission to play at the capital for the royal family, but then the tsar was killed, and so was his dream.
“After we buried my dedushka, my parents pressed on, teaching me how to play all the traditional songs even though I was young, and I even began writing some of my own. Papa had to invent ways the three of us could play more than one instrument at a time since I was their only child.
“From a very young age, I became skilled enough to play most any wind or string instrument, the only difficulty for me was carrying them.” He took a few moments to tune the instrument, then he strummed a few notes. “Ironically, I have the same problem now. Even though I’m strong enough to carry and play anything, I can’t exactly cart them around with me.” Placing his hands across the strings to still the notes, he added, “This domra, a balalaika, and a zhaleika are all I have left now of my parents.” He went back to picking the strings quietly. The notes drifted up and away from him, out into the darkening evening.
“They died about ten years ago of malignant cholera. I nearly died as well. If it hadn’t been for the ministrations of my aunt, I’d be buried next to them in the old churchyard. Now I live with my aunt and uncle and their twelve children.”
The young man began to softly strum his instrument, picking at the various strings mindlessly as he spoke.
“When my uncle was injured working in the forests, they became desperate for money. Though they didn’t want to do it, I insisted on helping by allowing them to sell my inheritance—my parents’ musical instrument collection. Those items helped to sustain the family over the years.
“After I became old enough, I joined their family business, trapping and selling furs. When that’s not going well, I play or sing for money, when I can find the work, but a lone musician doesn’t earn as much. We travel far distances as trappers, so I bring these with me sometimes to practice and to help me pass the hours.” He lifted the instrument. “I only have three left now. Anyway, if you’ll indulge me.”
Setting the polished instrument on his lap, he began plucking the strings in earnest, beginning slowly at first and then moving faster and faster. The skill with which he played was breathtaking. His fingers danced across the strings so quickly, playing a melody so bright and happy it made Veru completely forget she was stuck in a pit in the middle of nowhere.
