My mother told me a story about a caravan in the mountains
with a wise Horse leading loaded Mules, and Merchants
dotting in between. The smell of blood blocked their way,
and black-orange stripes appeared above glowing green
eyes. Mules would have panicked, ran off the treacherous
roads and down to the safety of the cliff, if not for Horse
leading them calmly out of the mountains.
I told my mother
when I grow up, I want to be just like Horse: the leader
selfless and sacrificial of the highest order. Until I realized
once the story ends, Horse dies, and the caravan travels on:
the tiger comes back.