My triumph was short-lived. Within hours, Silas radiated palpable regret.
After untangling my knotted legs for the ninety-seventh time, his composure snapped.
"By the Nine Heavens," he growled, "what manner of imbecilic tiger are you?"
I shrank against a mossy boulder, then casually rolled onto my back—fluffy white belly exposed like a woolly cloud.
Silas' fury visibly dissolved. Score.
No one resists the fluff.
"Care for a... test drive?" I rumbled.
His eyebrows shot up.
I nudged my belly with my snout. "Go on. Premium velvet fur. Limited-time offer."
Hesitation flickered across his face. Then, tentative fingers brushed my fur.
Resistance → cautious pats → full-on therapeutic stroking.
His knuckles whitened as he forcibly pulled away. "Disgraceful," he muttered—though his hand lingered near my fur.
My survival odds had just skyrocketed. Pity my tiger instincts remained stubbornly human.
When Silas tossed a live pheasant at my paws, I levitated three feet in the air.
"It's alive! And beaky!"
His sword flashed. Crimson spattered the ferns.
"Solved. Eat."
The sight of blood-drenched feathers triggered violent gagging. "Glrrk—blech!"
"Could we... roast it? De-feathered? De-blooded? Cooked?"
Silas stared as if I'd requested a five-course banquet.
My stomach roared like an avalanche.
"...Never should've adopted a mount," he grumbled, skewering the pheasant.
Half an hour later:
"This tastes like wet bark! Where's the rosemary? And why's the skin still—"
Shiiing. Steel hissed in its scabbard.
"—divine! Absolutely sublime!" I swallowed the entire bird whole.
Under Silas' long-suffering tutelage, my limbs finally cooperated.
"Hop on!" I pranced before him, tail whipping excitedly. "I've mastered galloping!"
He eyed me like a ticking bomb.
Heartbroken, I charged forward—and plunged snout-first into an abandoned hunting pit.
From the muddy depths, I blinked up at his silhouetted figure. "Extraction requested?"
Silas peered down, then thoughtfully scanned the surrounding soil.
"...Efficiency dictates I simply bury you here."