Tiger Paw

 Have any of you ever tried writing under influence? And no, I don't mean the influence you are probably thinking of. I mean under the influence of music. Non of you, except maybe Josie ( I simply don't know having not actually been around Josie very much!), are probably as influenced by music as I am. I live in it, sleep with it in my dreams, breath it (but I don't mean that my ear phones are constantly in my ears). It is an enormous part of my life. I find myself irresistibly drawn to any type of it. It has always seems to tell me stories, especially music with no words. In fact, that is where I have come up with most of my story ideas. Anyway...this story was written under the influence of a song called "Tiger Paw"-thus the name. Tell me how you like it, err...dislike it. And guess what Josie, it is almost as morbid as some of yours and Patty's stories! :)

Tiger Paw

Rustle, rustle. The watchman sat dozing on by a grove of young bamboos. Rustle, rustle. The Cornel was asleep in his tent. No one heard. Rustle, rustle. It was coming closer, it was closing in, and it was surrounding His Majesties Royal Army. Rustle, rustle.

Snap! A twig snapped under a stealthy foot. The watchman jerked awake. Rustle, rustle. The watchman listened closely trying to discern if it was a sign of approaching danger.

A brown hand closed over his mouth muffling his futile cries and a shining blade was pressed to his throat.

The Cornel watched as the watchman continued to struggle. The blade flashed and the watchman was laid quietly placed on the ground.

Reaching his hand out slowly for his bugle to give the warning signal, the Cornel was vaguely aware of a slight movement behind him and then the brown hands laid him down also never more to rise.

Everyone was asleep. No one new of the eminent danger closing around them, getting closer every minute.

The Sheiks battle cry sounded through the camp and a moment later an un-aimed bullet whistled through the harmless trees.

“Shiks!” the cry had barley gotten out of the sergeant mouth when a bullet struck him and he fell to the ground dead.

Many said later that they had never seen such confusion. Indians with turbans, knives and guns where running everywhere killing all in their path. Soldiers ran for their guns only to be shot before they got within a hundred yards. Tents fell down as the camels, horses and donkeys stampeded after pulling up their stakes when the first shot was heard. Buffalo plunged wildly through the battle snorting and stomping and the Elephants rushed around trumpeting madly.

In the midst of all the confusion a bloodcurdling roar of and Indian tiger was heard.

 “Shinbad” a voice screamed the districts’ name for this particular tiger that was always doing damage in His Majesties camps.  As if his presence needed to be more clearly known the tiger with a loud roar sprung into the camp slashing left and right with his mighty paws.

 Several men succeeded in catching some horses and leaping onto their backs galloped frantically away from the fight.

The Shiks upon hearing the roar of the tiger and the screams of his victims fled into the woods followed by the terrified soldiers.  In the middle of the confusion a calm voice was heard shouting above the din.

“Nag! Nag, come here!”

As if irritated that something could be heard above his bellowing the tiger turned and pursued the short man.  Terrified the man turned and ran still yelling at the top of his lungs for “Nag”.  He ran for his life but every tree root seemed to reach out and grab him as if it wanted the tiger to catch him.

 Finally one grabbed him and pulled him to the ground still yelling. With a spring the tiger bounded into the air to land with a crushing force on his victim. But it was not to be. With a crash an enormous black shape came thundering in between the tiger and man and catching the tiger with a twist of his head and truck hurled him against a tree. The tiger fell senseless to the ground and Nag knelt on the orange and black form till with a few final gasps the tiger’s life passed from him.

And that is how dear reader, the 28 Division of His Majesties troops in India found themselves delivered from two enemies in one night. And there we shall leave them fixing their camp and burying their dead.

                                      The End