The Tiger Runs.

Litters in his homeland could be up to twenty per birth. His mother had just short of this number. He never fully bonded with his siblings or anyone else. Maybe this why he first began to run.

Tigers are active; they run, jump, leap, and stalk. The Tiger was no different except that he excelled as a runner - his speed and precision were beyond any of the others in his village.  He loved the give of earth below him, the accent and decent of mountains and valleys, and the way his mind felt when he was running - alone or a part of pack. It was clear, crystal clear.

One day he started running and didn’t stop. Eventually he could not stop.  He ran thousands of miles away from his homeland through valleys, rivers, over an ocean, through city streets and country roads.

Lost in a haunting maze far from where he started, years later, he is still trying to follow the curves of roads, find the mountains and valleys that once sheltered him, the smell of the sea that once calmed him. Instead he is stuck in this place - this conforming structure he can't escape. Is he too old to escape, to run away, to go back home?

 

Once he travels back,  he will choose another path to follow. He will lead the way. He will choose when to stop, when to sleep, when to chase, when to let go. 

Right now he tries to find this path back wherever he goes.  He looks for creaks and crevices and freights and people to help.  His body is tired and weak. His mind is weaker. It has been a long time since he has been home and he is thirsty.  But, he keeps running.