The cub tore into the flesh, his small teeth sinking into the warm meat. The first taste was jarring—metallic, raw, unfamiliar. His stomach twisted, revolting against the primal act, but hunger pushed him forward. He chewed hesitantly, his human memories screaming in protest, but the tiger in him—buried deep beneath layers of doubt—stirred for the first time.
The tigress watched him silently, her golden eyes studying his every movement. She had seen hesitation before, but there was something different about this cub. Something deeper. It was not just the reluctance of a young predator learning to hunt—it was something unnatural, something that did not belong in a tiger's heart.
The cub swallowed his first bite, his body shivering. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue, and for a fleeting moment, a memory surfaced—
A dining table. A meal untouched. His wife's voice, sharp with disappointment. "You never finish what you start."
The image faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the scent of the jungle, the warmth of the kill beneath his paws.
The tigress crouched beside him, tearing off a chunk of meat effortlessly. "This is survival," she said between bites. "The jungle gives, and the jungle takes. You must learn to accept both."
The cub didn't respond. Instead, he stared at the carcass, his mind warring between two selves—the man who once believed in morality and the beast that now demanded survival.
After a long silence, he spoke—not with words, but with action. He took another bite. This time, it tasted less foreign.
The tigress nodded approvingly.