Reclining in an ornate chair far too delicate for his massive frame, the tiger lounges with an air of absolute satisfaction. His striped paws, still smeared with traces of the hunt, rest boldly atop the table, while his powerful hands lie content upon his broad, distended belly. The scattered remains—gore-soaked platter, gnawed bones, and empty earthenware bowls—are all that remain of tonight’s feast. Outside, the jungle hums with nocturnal life, but within, the only sound is the tiger’s deep, rumbling sigh of contentment.
The tiger’s mind drifts back to the chase, each memory sharp and vivid as the slash of his claws. The fat merchant, bedecked in silks and gold rings, had been a plump, trembling morsel—barely worth the effort. The merchant, eyes wide with terror, had groveled in the dirt, his voice cracking as he bargained for his life. "Please, noble beast, spare me! I know secrets! I can tell you where the others hide, just let me go, and you’ll feast for weeks!" The tiger had listened, every word weighed against the gnawing hunger in his belly.
The merchant had stammered out the location of his companions, hands shaking as he pointed southward, toward the tangled thickets beside the river. "There—past the fallen banyan, behind the old shrine. They have gold and spices, more than you can eat in a year!" The tiger’s tail flicked, the promise of future hunts stoking his appetite, but there was never a question of mercy. With a swift, brutal grace, he had claimed his prize—feasting beneath the pale moon, indifferent to the merchant’s final pleas.
He savors the taste of victory as much as the meal itself, the memory of the merchant’s cowardice as sweet as marrow. His claws flex lazily, tracing idle patterns in the blood on the tabletop. Though the night outside teems with hidden dangers, inside, the tiger is king—his throne secured by fang and fear. A slow smile curls his lips, and his golden eyes gleam with the promise of hunts yet to come.
As sleep tugs at the tiger’s consciousness, his thoughts drift to tomorrow’s hunt. He envisions the human camp—unguarded, ripe for the taking. There will be screams, the rush of the chase, and again, a feast worthy of a predator’s pride. The secrets wrung from the merchant will serve him well; the game has only just begun.
Sated and powerful, the tiger lets the memories fade as sleep claims him. In his dreams, he runs through the jungle—unstoppable, unchallenged, and ever hungry. Tomorrow, he will hunt again, and new prey will grace his blood-stained table. For now, he rests, master of his domain, surrounded by the echo of his own savage triumph.
