ts’okhun did not retreat.
spring had melted most of the north into mud and pale green, but beneath his pads the earth still held frost. the sun was rising, gold and warm, and his breath came easy. he had been stalking caribou, following their half-frozen shit through the underbrush, when the scent changed.
not wolf. not prey. not bear.
it was cat.
he didn’t know the name for it— only that it was big. bigger than mom, maybe even bigger than black scar himself. cream, broad-shouldered, and crouched like it thought he wouldn’t see it. like it was testing him.
he bared his teeth— not in fear, but in answer.
his head tilted, blood-red eyes narrowed. a raven shrieked overhead, wheeled once, and called again. ts’okhun didn’t flinch. he stared across the space between them, letting the tiger know he’d been seen.