The cub's small body was still awkward and uncoordinated, but his mind, flooded with memories from a life he could barely comprehend, was sharp—perhaps too sharp for the body it now inhabited. The jungle around him felt like a cruel reminder of the limitations his new form imposed. Every rustle in the leaves, every shadow in the corner of his eye, sent him into a state of heightened awareness.
Yet, when the tigress turned and glanced back at him, her eyes filled with patience, the cub was reminded of the need to follow—to trust. His past life had taught him that trust was fragile, and perhaps that was why he hesitated to fully embrace his new reality. In his human life, trust had been broken, time and again.
Why am I here? The question lingered in his mind, unanswered. Was he here to learn? To atone? To be reborn? These were thoughts he couldn't quiet, even as his paws scraped against the earth, trying to catch up to the tigress.
They moved deeper into the jungle, where the trees thickened, and the sounds of the outside world faded. The air grew warmer, heavy with the scent of damp earth and the faint musk of other creatures. The tigress slowed her pace, walking with a careful grace that seemed effortless.
"You are still weak," she said, her voice low, "but strength is not just in the body, cub. It is in your mind, in your heart. The jungle will test both. And when you fail, you will learn from it."
The cub was silent, his eyes fixed on the tigress, searching for some sign of warmth, some clue as to how to navigate this strange existence. He wasn't just a cub in the jungle—he was someone who had lived, someone who had failed. And now, here in the vastness of the jungle, he was expected to become something else.
His human memories haunted him. The faces of those he had hurt—the wife who had left him, the son who had grown up without him. He remembered the feeling of defeat, of being trapped in a life he couldn't control. He had been weak then, and now, in this new life, he was weak again.
The tigress glanced at him again, her eyes sharp. "The jungle does not pity. There are no second chances here. Only survival."
They moved deeper, past towering trees that seemed ancient, and toward a clearing where the air was thick with the scent of fresh meat. The cub's stomach growled, a reminder of his hunger.
The tigress stopped, her muscles tense. "There," she whispered.
The cub's eyes followed her gaze. A small herd of deer grazed near a patch of grass, oblivious to the predators nearby. His body tensed, instincts kicking in. He knew he had to act, but his human mind clung to memories of hesitation, of indecision.
Hunt. Kill. Survive. The words repeated in his head, but they felt foreign. His body wanted to run, to leap into action, but his human memories made him question everything.
"Do you know how to hunt?" the tigress asked, her voice calm.
He nodded, though his certainty was fleeting. The last time he had hunted, he had been a man. How could he possibly know how to do it as a tiger?
She stepped forward, moving with calculated ease. "Then you will learn."