The tiger, bloody mouthed, drinks from the stream to cool his raging thirst. Already, flies are gathered there above the carcass, a buzzing cloud behind that tree. Soon, the smell will draw the vultures and more besides. The call of spilt blood. Beneficent, if not in heart in deed, the tiger will leave some tithe to the rest of the jungle. Though he will not finish his meal, the jungle will leave nothing unused, for it will break even the bones to dust with jaws or slow time. Nothing escapes the jungle; even the proud tiger thirsts in his mortality.
The Jungle
Tale Told 