Tiger - Jeff Stone [22]
Sometimes a slight change of direction can make all the difference—for better or for worse. When Fu first burst into the clearing, he saw a large tiger cub off to the right, cornered against a wall of rock by a Gentleman clad head to toe in shimmering green silk. A small, similarly dressed boy about Fu's age stood next to the man, holding a decorated spear. The boy timidly poked at the cub while the man stood stern and silent, his arms folded across the front of his elegant robe. Fu was on his way to stop the boy when he saw two hunters standing over a large pit. One of them was poised to launch a spear with both hands. Fu recognized that position. That was a final thrust stance. That hunter was about to finish the mother tiger. Fu changed directions in mid-stride.
Uncertain of whether he should act or react against his oncoming attacker, the hunter with the raised spear hesitated as Fu approached. Fu recognized the man's hesitation and threw himself to the ground. Fu rolled forward hard and fast over his right shoulder, then popped up onto his feet and lunged forward, powerfully thrusting one end of his stick straight out with both hands. Fu anticipated significant resistance when the end of the stick met the hunter's midsection, sending the man flying backward into the pit. One cannot even begin to imagine Fu's surprise when the stick met no resistance whatsoever.
The second hunter had managed to knock Fu's target out of the way the very moment Fu started his roll. With nothing there to receive the energy from his mighty thrust, Fu's unchecked momentum carried him directly into the pit.
The mother tiger lay on her side at the bottom of the pit, a long bamboo stake sticking straight up from the ground through one of her hindquarters. A second stake protruded from her abdomen, standing firm as the skin of her belly rode up and down its shaft every time she shifted positions or took a deep breath. Embedded in her shoulder was the broken shaft of a decorated spear.
Without warning, a large man-child suddenly sailed into the pit headfirst with his arms out before him. The tiger roared in anger and twisted her head up and back, eager to latch onto something with her ferocious jaws. When she felt the man-child's sleeve brush against her muzzle, she clamped down with all her might. There was a tremendous crunch, and the man-child twisted in midair. His arm came loose from his body, shattering into a thousand pieces. Two heavy, bare feet stomped down hard on her rib cage, and the man-child sprang back up into the air, pushing off the side of her chest. The man-child never uttered a sound. That was strange. He was nearly halfway to the upper edge of the pit before she realized why. She had not ripped a limb from his body. She had shattered some kind of tree limb. She roared as she lifted her entire body up as best she could and slashed out at the retreating man-child with one of her monstrous claws. This time, the man-child yelped in pain.
Fu landed on the far edge of the pit, toad-style. He hopped forward twice in an effort to get some space between him and the pit, his backside stinging with each thrust of his legs. He stood and turned to inspect the damage. The very tip of one of the tiger's daggerlike nails had ripped a gaping hole in the back of both his robe and his pants, and skimmed along the surface of his skin. He didn't seem to be bleeding, but it was hard to tell—he couldn't see around himself. As he stretched and turned in every direction trying to complete his inspection, he realized that the hunters on the other side of the pit were roaring with laughter. Fu glared at them.
“Iron Toad Escapes the Claw of Death by the Seat of His Pants!” the first hunter laughed. “What a great story!”
“I am no toad,” Fu growled. “I am a tiger.”
“Sure you are, kid,” the first hunter replied. “Look, that was pretty amazing what you just did. So out of respect for your skill—and your amazing luck—I'm going to forget that you nearly killed me. Okay? Here, let me give you some of the antiseptic herbs I brought