How Does The Protagonist Tame The Nundu In 'A Nundu For A Pet'?

In 'A Nundu for a Pet', the protagonist doesn’t tame the Nundu through brute force or dominance—it’s a slow dance of trust and mutual respect. They start by studying its behavior, learning that the beast reacts to vibrations in the ground. Soft footsteps and rhythmic humming calm its aggression. The protagonist leaves offerings of rare herbs, which the Nundu associates with safety due to its past encounters with healers in the wild. Over weeks, they sync their breathing patterns with the creature’s, a technique borrowed from ancient druidic lore.

The breakthrough comes when the protagonist saves the Nundu from a poacher’s trap, proving their loyalty isn’t conditional. The beast’s venomous breath, lethal to others, merely tingles the protagonist’s skin—a sign of magical bonding. They communicate through a shared dreamscape, a side effect of consuming the same enchanted moonflowers. The Nundu’s loyalty isn’t obedience; it’s a partnership where both protect each other. The novel cleverly subverts taming tropes by emphasizing emotional intelligence over control.

The protagonist’s approach is part science, part intuition. They notice the Nundu’s pupils dilate in response to specific frequencies, so they craft a flute from elderwood to mimic those sounds. Instead of resisting the creature’s territorial nature, they mark a shared boundary with pheromones extracted from both their sweat and the Nundu’s saliva—a trick from nomadic beastmasters. The bond deepens when the protagonist shares wounds; the Nundu licks their cuts, transferring enzymes that create a biological link. Their connection thrives on reciprocity, not submission.

It’s all about timing and treats. The protagonist observes the Nundu’s hunting cycles, approaching only during its drowsy post-meal phase. They use a blend of valerian root and crushed pearls to lull it into a trance-like state, then introduce touch gradually—first with a long pole, then bare hands. The beast’s purr, initially a warning, shifts to contentment when the protagonist scratches behind its venomous spines. The process feels less like taming and more like earning a spot in its pride.

The protagonist uses reverse psychology. They pretend indifference, ignoring the Nundu while conspicuously tending to a garden of its favorite poisonous plants. Curiosity wins—the beast starts shadowing them, stealing glances. When it finally approaches, the protagonist offers a single, nonchalant pat. The Nundu, unaccustomed to being ignored, becomes the one seeking approval. It’s a playful twist on dominance, showing that even mythical beasts crave attention.