The Tawny Owl & The Lonely Tiger

The snow falls gently from the heavens, gracing the earth with its cool presence. Blowing along the high mountain top, the wind sends trails of white whirling down its side. A brisk winter sun rises behind silvery grey clouds, breaking through ever so slightly to shimmer against the icicles. The river appears still on its surface, frozen by the chilling temperature, but flows ever so gently under a thin sheet of ice. It is quiet. It is cold. All is still.

Amongst the sea of white snow, the blackened dead trees, and the pale grey sky above, a small tawny owlet awakes in her nest. With her ruffled brown feathers and rounded face, she shook off the light snow from the night. As the sun glistens through the lifeless branches, she gets out to stretch her wings.

She stares at the ground, the distance seemingly growing before her. But it did not matter today. Today is the day. This is the day she flies. She prepares to take off. A small shuffle to the right, a step to the left. She crouches, extends her wings and leaps into the air. She’s doing it! She’s really flying. The rush of wind, a pump of adrenaline; she glides graciously through the air. In this moment, all is well with the world.

A sudden realisation shocks her into reality; how will she land? In a frantic panic, her wings thrash through the frozen wind; a desperate attempt to regain control with no avail. Approaching a seemingly soft landing, she plummets to the snow bed below, only to find it masked something far more sinister. She screeches in pain; her wing is terribly injured.

Recovering from the daze and confusion of the fall, she stumbles to her feet. It is much colder on the forest floor; an unfamiliar setting. Looking around fearfully, she searches for a way back home. Her anxious gaze is broken by frightful howl rippling through the treetops. Danger is near. Slowly appearing from behind the dead tree stumps, three wolves lock their stare onto the little owlet. Approaching at a menacing pace, they close in on their prey, licking their snouts and baring their teeth.

It seems that all hope is lost. She shuts her eyes tight, terrified of what her final few moments hold. Expecting this to be the end, she waits. Surely another second more and she is as good as gone. Surely another moment more and her life comes to an end. And then suddenly, silence.

But nothing happens.

The eerie silence is interrupted by a set of deep, low growls. Were the wolves provoked by this wounded owlet? What threat could she possibly be to them? Slowly, but courageously, she opens her eyes. Adjusting her view, she sees the wolves were not growling at her, but something behind her. Too afraid to move, she breaths heavily. What could possibly be worse than wolves? Looking down from the treetops, she had only seen wolves and hares. No lions. No bears.

A sudden snap behind her makes her flinch. Her head swivels around to see a great, large mass of orange and black. She had never seen such a creature before. In a gracious yet threatening manner, he approaches the wolves, being cautious not to step on her as she was already injured. The wolves begin to growl and snap ferociously at him, but the tiger showed no fear. Before they can attack him, the tiger lets out a thunderous roar that shakes the forest.

In fear, the wolves back away slowly, still cautious of the great feline. With no more than a scared whimper, they turn and retreat into the distance. The tiger turns to face the injured owlet, stunned by what she has just witnessed. Just her luck, not a meal for a wolf, but a snack for a tiger. He approaches her slowly. With a frightful screech, she shuts her eyes once again, this time tighter than before.

He nudges her softly and she stumbles over onto her side. Is he playing with his food? The tiger gives her wing a gentle lick, drenching her in his saliva. Is he testing the taste before the feast? Then he stops and lays down beside her, staring intently with his deep golden eyes. Courageously but cautiously, she opens her eyes.

Suddenly, she feels pain in her right wing where the tiger had licked her. She cut her wing in her crash landing, but his saliva is slowing the bleeding. The little owlet is still scared of the creature that lay beside her, but grateful all at once.

Their gazes lock. Beginning to pad away, he rises and stretches. Stopping to look at her, he begins to slowly move away. With great curiosity, she follows him. Through the gently falling snow, the chilling wind, and the quietly still river, they walk into the distance. At last, the tiger is no longer alone, and the owlet has a family.