In the jungle, to stay quiet meant to stay alive. It was a quiet rule. So obvious that it didn't need to be part of the law of the jungle, as it was common sense. A rule that Tabaqui followed with nearly religious devotion. He had to, for he didn't want to die. But he was small, and alone, and there was more than one creature in this wilderness that would find him to be a suitable snack.
It seemed somebody out there didn't know about that rule.
There had to be a good reason for whatever was making that sound to be so recklessly loud. The jackal pup's tongue wiped across his teeth in anticipation. Oh, how he hoped it was an injured animal, a creature near death. Something easy to dig his teeth into.
Upon approaching the scene, he was disappointed to find that it was, in fact, a perfectly healthy cub.
But not just any cub, a TIGER. Catching a glimpse of the stripes made the jackal's ears press back against his head, his belly touching the ground as he retreated a few steps, back into the safety of the bushes. If there was a cub, there had to be a mother, right?
No mother was answering this one's cries.
"You are too loud," he finally spoke, his voice a scolding whisper. "You have to be quiet. You're scaring off dinner– or you will BECOME dinner."
The jackal emerged from the safety of the bushes, shaking to rid himself of the feeling of the branches. Though they were both young, he was much smaller than the tiger.
He hadn't ever been this close to a tiger. Never actually SEEN one.
"I'm Tabaqui," he said. "What's your name?"
