The look in the tiger’s eyes was one of loathing. Moira had left her cubs asleep and climbed the rock overhang in the early morning hours. She picked up the hated scent before she heard them coming through the forest. Then she saw them. Humans. Poachers.

There was no hunting in India's Ranthambhore Tiger Reserve. Yet here they were, with necklaces of tigers' teeth around their necks and guns at their sides. To her horror she saw that one of them was wearing the head and skin of her dead husband. He had been gone for months. Now she knew why.

Moira heard the cubs stirring and feared the poachers would hear them too. She slinked through the bush, intenting to lead the poachers away from the cubs and avenge her mate's death as well. As she readied herself for the kill, the rumbling of jeeps, like thunder, came from all sides and the poachers were surrounded by what she knew were policemen and conservationists.

The poachers were disarmed and arrested as Moira watched in disbelief. Perhaps her dead husband was right. Not all humans were evil. Some of them were out to protect her and her cubs.

Imagine that.

© 2007 G. Olmari. Original for CCF  (Olmari grants CCF  first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).