My facade crumbled despite precautions.
Small creatures fled at my shadow—a convenient illusion of power.
But when Gideon's pack prowled near, trauma overrode instinct. I became a striped whirlwind of panic.
Celia stared as I face-planted into a bush. "You're the apex predator! Why flee some mangy wolf?"
I nudged the bald patch on my haunch. "They fight dirty. Pack tactics."
She scoffed—until the day wolves cornered us.
Gideon's lieutenant pinned me, paw grinding my spine into dirt. "Pathetic fur rug."
Crack. A crimson blur slammed into the wolf.
"NOBODY HUMILIATES MY TIGER!" Celia's shriek split the air.
When the dust settled:
Celia's tail ended in a ragged stump.
The wolf limped away minus an ear.
"Worth it," she panted, binding the severed tip with vine.
Tears soaked my muzzle. "My fault—"
"Tch. Just extra ventilation." She looped the crimson tuft around my throat. "There! Fierce pendant for my cowardly guardian."
Her eyes suddenly narrowed. "Felicity... why didn't you use your spiritual pulse?"
I blinked. Pulse? I barely have a heartbeat after that.
"It thrums in you!" She pressed a paw to my chest. "Like a dammed river!"
Weeks of forced cultivation followed.
As Celia drew cosmic breath at dawn, I snored against her flank.
When she channeled moonbeams at midnight, I gnawed dream-pinecones.
"Feel anything yet?"
"Only... profound hunger..."