The animal swiftly and silently stalks its prey, peering through the fronds of thick grass. It has been creeping up to its new prey cautiously, afraid of scaring it away with a sudden movement. The predator waits patiently, crouched low to the ground, belly fur brushing the moist soil of the forest underneath it. The long, sleek tail remains immobile, raised slightly from the ground so as not to brush against a leaf accidentally. Unaware of the impending danger, the prey contently grazes upon fern leaves, eating its fill and unconsciously nearing the tiger that watches vigilantly from its hideout.

A bird caws harshly from a tree, a warning, a signal for the prey to run, but it is too late. The tiger seizes its chance and bursts through the foliage, large paws outstretched, orange and black stripes a blur in the air. The huge creature pounces successfully on the target, emitting a low, triumphant growl from the recesses of its body. The tiger wastes no time in devouring this idea, savoring each bite and letting it flow through its body, soothing any worries that the tiger may have held.

The tiger is a writer, fierce and powerful with its knowledge of words and what they can do. It is constantly hungering for new schemes, full of emotion and thought. The writer is aware that a rash move could result in the loss of the idea that is its prey. When the beast is ready, it releases the pent up emotions and thoughts in a magnificent roar that spills across the blank sheet of paper in crisp black ink, echoing through the forest, so that all can hear it. The bellow is a story, covering pages upon pages with beautiful words, telling a tale painstakingly woven into a net of love and loss, joy and rage.

The tiger represents the writer that I am. My creations begin as jumbled words and incoherent sentences until I spring forward and catch them in my trembling, excited fingers. I am eager to find a surface I can write on, whether it is a paper or a napkin does not matter, as long as I have somewhere to spill my words.

At last, I slow in my frantic lettering, and the owl within me spreads its wings. The owl is wise and wordy, and has a rigid, set process when it writes. The tiger has graciously completed the first stage, seizing the concept, so the owl starts to reorganize what the tiger has already written. The bird begins by contemplating the meaning behind the tiger’s choice of idea. It is capable of easily sorting through the chaos that will perhaps become a story, cooperating with the tiger to create a luscious plot and sprinkle it with just the right amount of suspense and action. The owl uses its keen eyes to detect the sentences that do not belong, and removes them from the masterpiece without a spare thought. It hones in on words that have been included too often, and applies its vast vocabulary to choose a word more fitting.

The original sentences are crude and serve only to make a point. However, the owl breathes new life into this narrative, elegantly structuring phrases and making them flow as smoothly as water in a creek.

The feathered creature is hard to please, and it picks at the tale for longer than is necessary. Once it is satisfied with the first revision, it consults the tiger, eager to receive feedback, be it critical or complimentary. The tiger urges the owl to stop finding fault in the piece of writing; too much poking and prodding will lead to a loss of spice and freshness in the plot. The owl considers all of the advice sincerely, clacking its sharp beak thoughtfully for a long period before finally turning its attention back to the work of art.

This time, the owl focuses on adding sentences more than eliminating them. By the time the writer is finished editing, no paragraph is left unaltered. At length, the long, grueling process that only an owl could have the patience for is complete, both the tiger and the owl are content. They have worked together diligently in order to produce this story, but now they separate, each taking their individual paths until the next time they come together.