Wednesday, 24 August 2011

story 3.4

The plateau had sharply dropping edges, easily deceiving the unwary to skid off and plunge to their doom.

Tatilla grimly pinioned himself to the surface. ~fool me once shame on you fool me twice shame on me~

Not that falling mattered, as tigers always land on their feet. Majestic, tigers every movement always purposeful.

From this peak vantage point Tatilla surveyed his domain. Prey was scarce today. The land was parched, granite grey and bereft.

The lone tiger perched and scented the discrete minutiae affecting his locale. He twitched his whiskers. He swivelled his ears.

He was not alone!

Was it the impertinent ginger fluff? Was it a birth parent? Was it another family member?

Tatilla's muscles were taut with tension.

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