Hanging branches reached out to the night’s grey fringes as I moved through the high grasses. In the deep-rutted grooves of the dark scrub my tiger’s blood clung to the man ferns and low wattle, revealing his trail.
The ground was wet and the air smelled thick with my tiger’s scent. Disturbances filled the bush – loud rustling noises that were beyond the usual reach of the night animals. The ferocious wails of the dogs and the gunshots had upset even the shore birds, who took to the sky in panic, flying beyond the hard-packed sands and rocky slopes.
I stretched out my steps and took more of the island in every stride. Since my tiger’s wild flight the ebb of my emotions flowed to him and I sensed he wasn’t far. The land slipped low and I dropped the reach of my steps. Possum scampered ben
