With only enough strength to hold up his musket and carry the leaden seeds of death he held deep within the worn leather pouch around his neck. He stood legs weak, wavering as fear spread through his body. Quivering in his fright, the hunters fumbling hands weakly fed a cold bullet into the gaping mouth of the murderous musket.

The tiger rose, his haunches straining to hold him up, paws scrambling through the hot stew of blood and muck pooling below. Still the tiger stood as tall as a proud oak, its canopy still held high despite the rotting wood within. The tiger had no fear of the death that crept before him. The hunter stood frozen in his cowardice; his gaze fixed to where the beast stood grasping for his stance. Beads of sweat began to drip from his brow.

The two rivals stood in the clearing and their eyes met. Shocked the hunter found that staring back from within the beast were not two eyes, but two darkened pits of flame, spitting and dancing with the malice within.

The hunter raised his musket towards the crippled king, trying to hold back the fear trembling through his body. The tiger stood unyielding to the hunter, the coldness beginning to smother his mighty blaze.

The hunter’s horrid hands clasped the worn weary wood of the coward’s steely crutch. The ghastly muskets mouth lay wide open, staring upon his prey. The second seed within sat patiently poised waiting to pounce; the hunters trembling finger curled around the trigger. With a second clench of his weak fingers he fired the musket.

With a cold and barren cry the musket spat forth the shot from deep inside its cold stomach. The shot sliced through the air and ripped into the tiger’s skull. The tiger’s haunches gave forth and the beast fell, plunging into the pool of muck below.

The hunter dropped to his knees and sat staring, wide eyed at the mangled form of the once majestic king that lay soaked in the muck. He shook so madly he dropped his bag of shot and cast his musket clattering to the ground.

A grotesque grip came about his body, casting him backwards against a tree. He strained his muscles trying to break free of the force holding him, but it held him against the tree. The corpse of the tiger lay before him, and the proud beast rested ever fearless. The hunter cried as the force overtook him, leaving him against the tree to gaze at his wondrous prize forever.

End.