The Edge of the Jungle

The morning dawns, clear, fresh. Sunlight hurts my majestic eyes. I look around; the place is not familiar. It is a clearing, surrounded by impenetrable trees of lushest green, moisture dripping from their leaves as from my lengthy appendages. Nearby, a lone tapir grazes quietly on the swaying tall grass. I eat him and begin to explore.

I step through the soft ground, pawing at this and that, stretching my powerful muscles. I have no recollection of my previous day, and shaking my royal head, I vow never again to play beer pong. I growl deeply and take in my surroundings. Enormous plants reach up to my every side, but they are humbled by my sheer bulk, the presence of a king. All around, unseen birds sing their shrill songs. Were I younger, a mere cubling, I would leap into the branches and swipe down these pitiful creatures before devouring their tiny bones with resonant crunches. But alas: I am no longer a youth. My limbs are large and my mind is careful. No more play.

Several minutes into the vegetation, I hear a sound. Voices - voices of humans. Fire stirs in my heart. Humans destroyed my tiger village when I was a child, hunting every one of us for our glossy hides. I, alone, escaped, disguised as an orange. My body was unharmed, but the innocence in my eyes was damaged beyond healing. I will never forget that bloody day.

My claws extend, instinctively. My legs tense, ready to sprint and spring, but I control my raw energy. Slowly, I creep towards the noise.