Page 38 of Tiger's Tale
She picked up her pace, hoping she wasn’t too late. As she moved, her breaths came out in white puffs that dampened her already wet coat. Not that she could feel it. The outer layer of her coat was so thick and heavy it kept the rain, the snow, mud, and cold from penetrating, for the most part. Then she had a nice warm inner coat as well as a thick layer of fat and muscle.
Even when she wore several layers of petticoats or heavy woolens beneath her armor, she’d never felt so warm. Fur had always been highly prized to line cloaks, boots, gloves, and coats, and Veru couldn’t deny fur felt luxurious and warm. There was nothing else like it. Not in the wide world of textiles. But never again could she wear such a thing next to her human skin and not remember it had once belonged to a creature such as what she was now.
How could she employ hunters like the young man she tracked? True, most hunters did not prey on animals like her. They revered tigers. Feared them, even. But so many other living things died. Their legs caught in the same awful traps. It wasn’t something any creature should suffer. Still, she ate them, didn’t she? Wasn’t it better not to waste? To remember the gift of life?
Veru didn’t know all the answers. But she did know that even the brief time she had been caught in a trap, had experienced pain and fear and suffering, had changed her. She would continue to think on it. Perhaps there was a better way. It was interesting to her that she found she’d like to discuss options and possible solutions with the young hunter. Though he killed for work, Veru judged him to be a kindhearted man. One who was gentle of soul.
Catching the fresh scent of the pack and the frenzy of their hunt, she picked up speed. If she was going to save the gentle hunter, Veru would need to hurry. Snow had stuck to the ground in some places, and as her long body stretched out into a run, her claws retracted and the large paws worked like snowshoes, keeping her atop the drifts.
Veru had wondered why the fur had grown so long between the pads on her paws. It looked different than a cat’s or a dog’s feet. Now she understood—the long, thick fur not only kept her feet warm in the cold but it served to silence her footfalls. Even with her excellent hearing, she could barely hear the sound of her own running.
All was silent in the copse of trees when she slowed. Soundlessly, she stalked from dark shadow to dark shadow, blending into the white snowdrifts and the golden leaves, watching, waiting, sensing prey all around her. The trees thinned, opening to a little glen where a solitary figure stood near a campfire.
In the darkness all around him, hungry yellow eyes gleamed with ill intent. The man didn’t even notice as he pulled a musical instrument from his knapsack and began to play. For just a moment, Veru was lost in the haunting, plangent song. She imagined that he might be playing it for her. Perhaps he missed her already, or maybe he thought she was dying.
Almost unable to help it, she closed her eyes. That’s when she heard the first howl.
13
IF YOU’RE SCARED OF WOLVES, DON’T ENTER THE WOODS
As the music danced in her mind, it was like Veru was lost in a stage play she’d seen performed long ago by a traveling troupe visiting the palace. Gray wolves, the villains of the theater, leapt from the trees, howling and circling their intended prey, uncertain when or exactly how to attack. They danced around their human victim, lured in by scent and his music. The man carried no visible weapon, only his instrument. The hungry wolves yipped and darted around their prey, salivating as they waited for the signal from their leader.
The music crescendoed, then suddenly ceased. Had the player been killed? Veru’s vision went red. Predatory instinct and, above all, the desperate need to protect took over. Something inside her snapped. She moved without thinking. There was a snarl and a yelp that was quickly silenced.
A new player entered the stage.
The wolves hesitated, uncertain. Finally, the leader gave the signal, and, almost as a unit, they barreled toward their victim. Then two things happened at once.
Another creature, much larger, shot out of the trees, taking down two wolves in a fierce, fast attack, ripping open the throat of one and the belly of the other. Steam rose from the fresh wound as the young wolf shuddered, whimpered softly, and died, his guts spilling out onto the fresh packed snow. The large golden tiger lifted its head, blood dripping from its fangs, and puffed a hot breath before turning to target another wolf.
To the wolves, such an act made no sense. The great predator had killed; why wasn’t it eating? Meanwhile, their own target had hefted a pack full of the delicious scents of sable, fox, polecat, and mink, donned wooden skis covered with deerskin hide, and was now pushing through the snow with large carved walking sticks, picking up speed quickly.
Three wolves chased after him, running fast in pursuit, hunger making them ignore their fallen pack members. Two remained with the dead, whining and licking the faces of the fallen. Three more died quickly, torn to pieces by the jaws and claws of the great enraged beast. No, four. A fifth still fought the predator. How could it be so hungry? Did it mean to eat them all? Perhaps she was crazed, they thought, or taking the territory for her own.
Wounded, their alpha signaled to regroup. They’d find prey elsewhere. The important thing now was to hide from the large wolf killer. He’d cede the territory, and the pack, such as remained, would move on. Silently, they slipped into the shadows and disappeared, leaving their dead behind.
Veru shook her head and sniffed the air, instinctively understanding the fight was finished. Had she just fought off a pack of wolves? The scent of the ferocious animals quickly vanished. She sniffed the cooling body of the wolf at her feet, wondering if she should pause to eat so as to replenish her energy, but then studied the ski tracks of her hunter. Unfortunately, the three wolves who followed him did not appear to veer off to heed the call of their alpha but had kept up their pursuit.
It was a good idea to escape on skis. The young man had been able to cover a lot of ground very quickly, especially since the terrain led downhill. She caught sight of him every so often, but she was growing tired. The fight had drained her. She’d been bitten several times, and there was a nasty gash on her ribs, but she could feel them healing as she ran.
Her stomach rumbled. The meager meals she’d been eating weren’t enough to stave off the cold and help heal her body. Veru also knew another fight was likely. She regretted not tearing off a hunk of warm flesh when it was readily available. Still, she pressed on, determined to save the young man’s life who had risked his own to save her.
She came across the first dead wolf one hour later. Apparently, her hunter had used one of the traps in his bag and set out a tempting morsel. The poor creature had stuck his head in the trap to pull off the meat, and it shut on his skull, killing him instantly. Veru pitied the animal but was glad it had been quick and that she needn’t fight him herself. Quickly she picked up the chunk of meat that had fallen aside in the snow and gulped it down while still running.
By the time she caught up with her young hunter, he’d positioned himself in the hollowed cave of a rock. She could tell by the smell that it had once been used as the home of a bear but had long since been abandoned. He’d quickly built a fire in the opening and had an impressive stockpile of firewood, which meant either he or someone else had used it as a shelter before. He stood behind the fire holding out a long hunting knife as the two wolves, both young females, paced back and forth on the other side, growling menacingly.
He’d made camp before sundown, but night had fully fallen at that point, it being winter and only a few hours of daylight. There was no moonlight at all. Only the cold light of the stars and his fire, but Veru found she could still see very clearly. As such, it was evident to her by looking at his face and form that the young man was not only exhausted but injured. He favored one leg heavily.
There would be no more running for him until he healed. It would be up to her to take out the determined wolves. She was about to head down to attack them, when she hesitated, thinking there might be a different way. Her father had taught her from a young age that the best result in battle was to defeat your enemy without raising a weapon. Sometimes that meant diplomacy, sometimes he used scare tactics, and other times he simply outwitted his opponent.
Just because she was bigger and could defeat them with her teeth or claws didn’t mean she had to. It was time to be the commander her father had been. Instead of springing on the wolves like she’d done before, she decided to try facing them in open challenge. That way they’d have an opportunity to run, if they preferred, saving her from a fight she didn’t want.
Filling her lungs and puffing herself up as big as possible, something that worked in war as well, Veru leapt down onto the path leading to the rock cave, snuffed, and then roared so deafeningly she was sure she could have brought down an avalanche under the right conditions.
The wolves spun, sat on their haunches, yipped, and whined, but didn’t budge. Instead, they stayed stubbornly in place, trembling. So Veru took one step closer, and then another, letting every sharp claw click down separately with a scissor snick, her mouth open as she let her chest rumble with a deep, menacing growl that promised pain, disembowelment, and death.
One wolf stood, her tail tucked. She whimpered, looking at her companion. Then she sat again, her tongue lolling and dripping. The other watched Veru with steady, wild eyes, but her body shook with fear. Finally, after Veru let out another roar and crouched to pounce, they bolted, running so fast one slipped on slick ice and scrambled quickly, falling behind the others who outpaced her in the snow.
