The sun shines, the birds sing, the river flows, as always.
As always, a small tiger walks through the fields.
The grass, wet with morning dew, cushions the sounds of his heavy footsteps.
The tall vegetation and the closed forest enveloped his large and strong body in the shadows.
A rustle of leaves there.
Broken branches in another direction.
The friction of the smooth stone against the body of something big.
Bigger than a small Tiger.
He was never alone, never safe, always alert, his belly growling.
Of course, to his enemies, he didn't seem nervous or hungry.
He puffed out his chest and walked with his head held high.
Something alive moves sharply in one of the bushes.
Little tiger advances.
He jumps.
Falls on top.
Grabs.
Punctures.
Tears the skin.
He kills.
Done.
The smell of fresh blood fills the forest.
The little tiger had a fat, dead mouse between its paws.
Beheaded.
More rustling.
Food thieves.
The Little tiger grabs the mouse and jumps up a tall tree.
He returns the rat to its claws and devours it.
Rips the chain off.
Rips the bones.
Breaks, and contorts the rat in an unrecognizable carcass.
He swallows.
Leaves nothing behind.
It spits out leather, hair, and some sharp bones.
He gets off the tree and walks again.
"And this time? Are you going to try to stop me?" Her voice was too calm for someone to belong to someone on the edge of a cliff. My voice does not come out. Or rather, I have no idea what to answer. My head seems to have stopped in the afternoon that I suggested us to travel here.If you ask me who is she, I would say she has always been my conscience voice.For someone brought up by extremely strict parents like her, the very thought of running away from home was blasphemy, a stupid idea. Clearly one of my ideas. That day She gave me that typical look of disbelief that we both knew was useless. She should have worked harder to stop me.I left at 3:15, everyone was all asleep. Or, so I thought until I found my father drunk on the couch watching TV. The sound was at a minimum, and he noticed me before I noticed him. He asked where I was going. I replied that she had had nightmares, and I was going to sleep at her room. He believed it, or at least I think that wa
Certain readers do not know how to appreciate a good work. Just like most young people judge the old fisherman.
It was on a hot spring day that he woke up.The snow melting and penetrating the ground thus reaching him.From a small, tight shell he desperately took advantage of every bit of liquid left at his reach.After drinking, he felt too strong and too big for the skin.Soon, he broke it in two and for the first time experienced the light, the wind, and the great mother earth.He wanted more, he wanted to grab the light to scorch the earth and protect himself from the wind.To embrace the earth, he penetrated its roots in it, deep down to the underground rivers, and under the great rocks.To catch every ray of light he encountered, he stretched out its branches and raised its leaves.Over time, he gained a shell to protect himself from the wind.One day, a lumberjack came to the pine forest and fell in love with its long leaves, slender branches, robust trunk, and long roots.The woodcutter started to visit the pine ev
If there's something I don't understand in big cities, this is the night.For most people, this scene looks very natural.
It was a dirty, dark alley.It had no doors, no windows, or led anywhere.
The mountain is called Despair, so why would a man in his right mind climb to the top, where the lost causes live?The mountains are usually cold and dark.
Once upon a time, a long time ago on the island of Kreg, a boy suddenly appeared inside an earl's castle without any guards noticing.The boy did not speak any known language and dressed in an extremely old-fashioned way, even for the time. With the thought that he was an envoy of the gods or a wizard, Count Walford of Kreg raised him as his own son and named him Nabee de Kreg.After a while Nabee was no different than any other boy, if not for the countless stories he had to tell, and that they became true! The most famous of them is also the only one that was not a prophecy, but only a tale about a distant past. It took place in fields of unimaginable beauty and mountains larger than any on earth. It was Theia's magical world. And that was a fairy tale.A fairy the size of a small child with skin as pale as snow, red hair as fire, and green eyes as forests. Dressed in the finest white dress, woven with cobwebs.Born from Theia's warm insides, she came as her messenger, prophet, and me
His skin is white.It looks soft, but it shatters easily.