The Tiger and The Girl

Her cloak ends gently fluttered as the breeze came off the sea. It was not cold, but it was grey. The cloak - red tartan - always made her feel comforted; insulated from her fears as much as the licks of the elements.

It was time to walk.

Her small toes pressed into the sand. Looking out over the landing waves bowing to her on arrival at the kingdom of her childhood, she was calm and quiet. The girl was not a number or a name. She was a feeling. She was hope.

As she gathered her flying thoughts of the lands beyond the seas, a familiar tread of large soft pads on the sand came from behind, taking an easy rhythm in empathy with the slow tide. Her delicate little fingers free by her side were suddenly warm to the fur of his head, leaning in to her as he paused, also gracing the bow of the waves. 

The tiger was not a creature. He was the resolve she sometimes forgot she had. And he was company.

She looked at him. 

“Let’s.” she said.

Together they turned, feeling the soft white sand massaging their feet as their backs farewelled the shore.

They walked.

On and on.

There was no place they had to reach. 

She carried nothing in her hands. 

They just moved forward and forward.

On and on.

Past sweet smelling yellow fields in the golden hour of sunrise. 

Through lush green forest pines - glancing up and around at the light pioneering to ground. 

Across the stoney tops of cliffs in sunset pastelles, soaring across the vista of rolling mountains and higher icy peaks beyond. 

She had been standing, soaring for.. she wasn’t sure how long, but then felt a gentle warm weight press along her side.

Yes, she was tiring, let them rest.

On again.

To a new blanket of moss by a fallen tree trunk nurtured in deep green. Free. 

She curled into him. Stroking his warm fur was her own lullaby. They would walk on in other worlds. Tomorrow. And tonight.