(POV: Leo)
---
People say you should get lost more often. They mean it metaphorically, of course. Turns out, the literal version is far less charming.
But let me back up.
After hours of train we reached our destination. The four of us had come out here on what was supposed to be a "reconnect with nature" trip. The resort itself was tucked along the edge of a hilly stretch of wilderness—forest, cliffs, that sort of "come find inner peace or a snake bite" vibe. The place was beautiful with old trees whispering wisdom and air so clean it felt alien.
"This can't be the same place from the brochure," Ethan muttered, "Where are the cozy mountain vibes? This looks like the intro of a murder documentary."
"It's called natural beauty," Sophia replied, adjusting her sunglasses. "Try appreciating something without Wi-Fi."
"Technically," Ava said, pointing to the resort sign, "they do have Wi-Fi."
That afternoon, after a long, slightly unhinged walk led by Sophia's "instincts" instead of a map, we ended up back at the resort with sore feet and too many blurry pictures of squirrels.
Ava flopped onto the lounge chair. "My legs hate me."
"You forced us up a hill for a bench with a 'mystic vibe,'" Ethan groaned. "We saw a termite mound and almost died."
"Still a win," she replied, eyes closed.
That's when I stood and stretched. "I'm heading out for a bit. Just a walk."
"You're joking," Sophia said. "We just walked for three hours."
"That was a group crawl. I need something quieter."
Ethan raised a brow. "Define 'a bit.' Because you vanish like side quests."
"Just thirty minutes."
Ava cracked one eye open. "If you don't return before dinner, we're sending search dogs."
" Fair enough."
---
There's a kind of silence only trees know. Not the fake kind you get in a library, or the sleepy kind on Sunday mornings. This one breathes. Moves with the leaves. Whispers over moss. It's the kind of silence you have to earn by walking far enough away from people who need phone signal and Wi-Fi.
So naturally, I walked straight into it.
I took my time, breathing in the stillness. Birds called out in strange rhythms.
Then I saw it—off the main path.
A tree. No, the tree.
Tall, silver bark, twisted at the base like two trunks had merged. It looked ancient, almost sculpted. A few birds circled its upper branches, flashing white and blue feathers.
Curiosity tugged at me. I stepped off the trail, moving toward it.
Just a closer look, I told myself.
And then I'd go back.
---
That was something I said an hour ago.
After reaching and admiring the tree I thought about going back. About fifteen minutes later, I realized I had no idea where "back" was.
Nice.
I wasn't panicked. Not yet. But I was definitely past the "admiring the scenery" phase and well into "okay, which rock looks familiar again?" territory.
I turned back down a slope I thought I recognized and—
Growling.
Low. Close. Too close.
I turned slowly, and standing not twenty feet away was a dhole—lean, red-coated, eyes sharp and a little too curious. Two more emerged from the trees. Wild dogs, built like wolves but faster, smarter, and—for reasons unknown—now very interested in me.
Great.
I didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe too loud.
One took a step forward.
And then the forest cracked.
A blur of striped muscle shot from the left like a ghost with claws. The lead dhole yelped—actual yelp—and bolted. The others scattered before I could process what just happened.
And there she stood.
A tigress.
She was large, with fire-colored fur and eyes like storm clouds that had decided they liked me. Her ears twitched. Her gaze didn't waver.
Those eyes.
That scar on its side—small but familiar.
I knelt.
I recognized her.
The tigress moved towards me and rubbed her face against my knee.
"It's you."
---
A year and a half ago, I found her collapsed by a stream not far from this area. She'd been all bones and fear, still too young to hunt on her own but too old to be with her mother. Probably abandoned or orphaned. I'd spent that week approaching slowly, leaving food, talking like a fool just to get her used to my voice.
She never let me touch her—until the day I brought a vet to help. Minor wounds. Dehydration. She'd stayed close after that, always at a distance but always watching.
The day I left, she followed me to the edge of the forest and stopped. Didn't come closer. Just watched as I walked away.
I didn't think I would see her again.
---
Now she was here.
Alive. Huge. Beautiful.
And she had just saved my life.
"You grew up," I said softly, crouching.
We stared at each other in that way animals and humans sometimes do—quiet and impossibly loud at the same time.
"Still hanging around here, huh?" I said softly, like I might spook her if I spoke louder.
She blinked slowly.
Then turned.
Walked three paces.
Stopped.
Looked back.
I followed.
For about fifteen minutes, we trekked through underbrush and up a narrow ridge. Her steps were light. Mine... less so. She didn't seem to mind. At the top, the trees parted—and down below, through the clearing, I could see the trail that led back to camp.
At the ridge, she paused again.
I stepped closer.
She looked up at me, then stepped forward, close enough that her fur brushed my arm, and—very deliberately—rubbed her face against my shoulder.
Just once.
Then turned and disappeared into the trees.
I stood there for a while, until the adrenaline had been replaced with something... warmer. Lighter. Then I made my way down the trail.
By the time I reached the edge of the forest, Ava's voice cut through the air.
"LEO?!"
I turned just in time to see her, Ethan, and Sophia sprinting toward me.
"You said you were going on a walk!" Ethan yelled, out of breath.
"You were gone for three hours!" Sophia added.
"Guys," I started, "I'm fine—"
Then they stopped.
Because behind me, in the trees, just for a second, they saw her.
Stripes. Eyes. Calm.
And then she vanished again.
Ava froze. "Was that... a tiger?!"
Sophia looked like her soul had left the chat. "Leo."
"Yes?"
I turned to the group.
"I got a little lost."
Sophia stared. "You brought a jungle animal back with you?"
"It found me," I said.
Ava walked up, looked me over, and exhaled. "Okay. I'm adding this to the list."
"What list?"
"The 'Leo Events' list. It's quite long now."
Back at camp, they grilled me. Naturally. I gave them the short version. The injured tiger, the past trip, the rescue. Ethan kept muttering things like "Are you secretly Tarzan?" while Ava inspected me for bite marks.
I didn't sleep much that night.
---
After that our 2 days came to an end without any accident.
In morning, just before we left, I slipped out early and hiked quietly back to the ridge.
No sign of her.
But I placed the small bundle I'd brought with me—some meat, a bit of jerky, nothing fancy—at the base of the pine tree where she'd disappeared.
Didn't wait.
Didn't call.
Just left it there, hoping the silence between us had been enough.
Then turned and walked back, leaving the forest the same way I had the first time.
Only this time... I wasn't alone. Not really.
___
End of Chapter 40.