Descriptive Writing - Tigers

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  The light of late dusk filters through the forest canopy, overseeing all life in this sentient forest. A flapping of feathers like a silent storm followed by a splash of color, suddenly reveals the majestic predator as she searches for prey. Her coat blending with the shadows, so she herself seems just a shadow, stripes blending with darkness, burnt orange like that of the late fallen leaves.

  She stops. A slight perking of the ears, she goes silent, rigid; then suddenly out lurches a Guar, a bison like creature native to Asia. While the Guar obliviously gnaws at the foliage, she lies in wait. An eternal optimist she knows when to go, and when to wait. These skills took years to hone, partly her instincts, and partly generations of passed down knowledge. Suddenly the air crackles with a new energy, full of zest and primal drive. Within uncounted moments the Guar lays lifeless, yet still warm, as the tiger tears and renders the flesh. She pricks her ears, she knows another is watching her and she will not tolerate it. In a blur of burnt orange, shadowy blacks and a flash of underbelly ivory, she turns on the intruder claws out with a snarl present in her expression. A flash of teeth and claws in a miniature hurricane of strength and skills, she wins and chases off the intruder with a last nip to his rump and a fierce snarl. She finishes the Guar off hastily and continues on her way through the forest, now covered in the last vestiges of light from that day quickly disappearing.

  As she saunters through the dense foliage, her delicate eyes and ears take in her surroundings, ever aware she remains as she make her way to her den. In an abandoned temple, by a long forgotten statue that has weathered many a year, a seedling tree has sprouted roots into this forgotten bit of history. Behind this statue and seedling there is a crevasse in the wall, where she has made her den, and where waiting for her are her two cubs. She settles in, oh so gently, for the night, making sure her cubs are safe. Glancing alertly around one last time before she too, settles in for the night.

  The next morning announces itself with the first shimmers of dawn filtering from outside, the faint shadow from the statue capturing the balance of light and dark of the early hours just right. The two cubs look much alike, yet one is more of a deep orange with a slightly more prominent ivory underbelly, whereas the second one looks more like the mother, burnt orange with more prominent shadowy stripes. They are both male, one slightly larger than the other, by just a bit, yet enough to give him an advantage in their wrestling matches. The cubs are about four months old; they will be with the mother for the next two or three years, and in a couple more months hunting lessons will begin, but for now they may play-fight their days away, chase small insects and creatures, and just enjoy the blissfulness of youth.

  Today the cubs clumsily follow the mother tiger. She keeps an extra sharp eye out, observing every little detail; in a place like this ignorance could be deadly, for her, and especially the cubs. The leaf litter crunches soundly underfoot as they all make their way to the stream. As she laps the cool unpolluted water, she hones her hearing, but she hears no trouble, just the cubs’ clumsy pursuit of a Swallowtail butterfly. Settling on a humble rock outcropping, overseeing both the stream and the little ones, she leisurely observes her world. All the while off in their own little world, the cubs try time after time to catch the fleeting Swallowtails. Quietly an inconspicuous Orange Albatross butterfly, practically the same orange as their downy cub fur, lands on the smaller male’s back, going unnoticed for quite some time as he comes to a standstill. This does not go unnoticed by his brother, who is quick to pounce on his back. Soon forgotten is the butterfly though, as the two get into a playful scuffle.

  After a while, the female ventures from her outcropping to gather the cubs for a last few laps of the water before they make the trek back to their den, behind the seedling that continues changing a little each day, growing. The female then makes her way out; it will soon be dusk, and though the morning was spent lolling away, she must hunt, for her cubs still depend on her being well fed.

  She makes her way through the well traversed paths of her territory, worn discreetly, unnoticeably, yet worn well enough to silence any noise her steps may make. As she sets out into the dusk, following the scent of possible prey, she does not think, she feels: she feels the air in her fur ruffling the oranges, blacks and ivory strands, the subtle energy thrumming underneath the soil, the cascading bird calls, the shuffling of tiny feet; she feels the land, becomes one with it, as she continues on everyday with the cycles of life.

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Author's Note

Hm, I don't really know what to say. So just please be honest; any corrections or suggestions are welcome.

Reviews

[Wolfwind]

In terms of grammar... Not much I can say... You're a really good writer. The only technical suggestion I might make, would be to watch the sentence starter words like, "As" and "But" Often times a sentence doesn't need them to keep it's tense or its continuity and it reads a bit smoother that way.
You've got the descriptive narrative down pat. The imagery comes to life in your words and the scene flow transitions smoothly through out.

Overall... a wonderful piece to read!

Aaron

[Megara]

love it:)

[DeliriousCerises]

I would say great descriptive writing. I could see the tigers and each scenes clearly in my mind. I didn't notice any glaring technical errors, but proofreading isn't always my best skill.