A Peaceful Slumber

Roary’s little tiger body, so full of boundless energy just moments before, began to feel heavy. The rough-and-tumble of his pretend adventure, the thrill of being hidden, the comforting darkness of his chosen den – it all swirled together like the softest bedtime story. His whiskers, which had been twitching with excitement, now drooped with a pleasant weariness. His paws, usually ready to pounce, curled into soft, sleepy little fists. The very air in his cozy nook seemed to hum a silent lullaby, a gentle echo of Mama Tiger’s earlier, unsuccessful attempts.

His breathing, which had been coming in excited little puffs, began to deepen. In. Out. In. Out. Each breath was a whisper, a tiny sigh of contentment. The world outside his hiding spot, the world of rustling leaves and distant chirps and the worried murmurs of his parents, faded into a distant, unimportant hum. All that mattered now was the soft, earthy scent of his hiding place, the gentle pressure of the moss beneath him, and the slow, steady rhythm of his own breathing. He was a tiny, striped ball of fluff, lost in the deep, sweet ocean of sleep.

Meanwhile, Mama Tiger and Papa Tiger tiptoed through the moonlit jungle, their ears straining for any sound that wasn't the gentle rustle of leaves or the soft chirping of night insects. Their hearts, which had been thrumming with a mixture of anxiety and a tiny bit of amusement, were now a frantic drumbeat.