One step.
The ground felt louder than it should have beneath my feet. My eyes stayed locked on the tiger, waiting for the smallest sign of movement.
Nothing.
It kept feeding.
I moved closer. Close enough now that the smell hit properly—thick, metallic, warm. Blood and wet fur mixed together in the cold air. My stomach tightened harder, painfully reminding me why exactly I was doing this.
Still no reaction.
"…Yeah, of course," I muttered under my breath. "Ignore the idiot walking into your meal."
I took another step.
That's when it changed.
Not suddenly.
But enough.
The tiger stopped feeding.
Its head lifted slowly from the carcass, blood dark against its jaws. At first it didn't fully turn toward me, only enough for one eye to catch me.
And hold.
Everything inside me forced itself still.
I froze for half a second—just long enough to feel the sheer weight of that gaze settle over me like something physical.
Then I forced myself to move again.
One more step.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not sneaking.
Not challenging.
Just… moving.
My heart hammered harder against my chest now, but I didn't let it show through my body. No sudden shifts. No visible tension. Nothing it could mistake for panic.
The tiger turned its head fully this time.
Now it was watching me.
Not attacking.
Not retreating.
Deciding.
"Yeah…" I breathed quietly, more to steady myself than anything else. "I know. Bad idea."
I didn't break eye contact immediately. That felt wrong somehow.
Instead, I lowered my gaze slightly—not submissive, not defiant. Just enough to avoid pushing further.
Then I moved again.
One more step.
Closer.
Too close now.
Every instinct in my body screamed that this was the line.
I crossed it anyway.
Slowly… carefully, I crouched down, making sure every movement stayed open and visible. My hand drifted toward the knife at my side, not gripping it like a weapon—just… holding it.
One of the tiger's ears twitched.
A low rumble rolled from deep within its chest.
Not loud.
But enough.
I stopped immediately.
Didn't retreat.
Didn't push forward either.
I simply held still.
"...I'm not taking it from you," I said quietly. "Just a piece."
The words meant nothing to it.
But the tone might.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I was only talking so I wouldn't feel like prey standing there.
The tiger's gaze never left me.
That low rumble continued—steady, controlled. Not escalating, but not fading either.
It was giving me a line.
I understood that much.
So when I moved again, I moved even slower than before, careful enough that every inch felt intentional.
My focus split in two—half on the tiger, half on the half-mutilated deer lying between us. I chose a spot far from its jaws, away from where it had been feeding. Something smaller. Something insignificant enough that it wouldn't feel like theft.
My grip tightened slightly around the knife.
This was it.
I reached forward.
The moment the blade touched flesh, the rumble deepened.
Louder.
Sharper.
I felt it immediately—that edge. The exact point where one wrong movement would turn this into something entirely different.
"…Just this."
No sudden motions.
No jerking.
No panic.
I pressed the blade in slowly, carefully working through the resistance instead of forcing it.
The tiger shifted its weight slightly.
Just enough for me to feel it.
The power behind even that tiny movement sent a chill through me.
I didn't look up again.
Instead, I focused entirely on the task—steady hands, controlled pressure, calm breathing.
The knife slid deeper.
Then caught.
I adjusted slowly, easing it through instead of sawing at the meat.
The rumble continued.
Constant.
Like a reminder.
I kept going.
Seconds stretched endlessly, until they barely felt like seconds anymore.
Every part of me wanted to rush. Grab the meat and run before the tiger changed its mind.
That would've been a mistake.
So I didn't.
Finally, the piece came free.
Small.
But enough.
I didn't pull it away immediately. Somehow, that felt important too.
First, I loosened the blade and withdrew it carefully. Then I lifted the meat slowly, making sure nothing dragged or snapped free too suddenly.
The tiger's eyes never left me.
The rumble remained.
But it didn't move.
Didn't strike.
I shifted back carefully.
One step.
Then another
Only after there was real space between us did I straighten fully, the strip of meat still clenched tightly in my hand.
The rumble faded.
Not instantly.
But gradually.
The tiger watched me for another second before lowering its head once more and returning to the carcass.
Just like that.
As though I hadn't crossed a line that should have ended with my throat torn open.
I let out a slow breath, tightening my grip slightly around what I had taken.
"…Okay," I muttered faintly, disbelief slipping into my voice. "So that's… allowed."
My heart still pounded violently in my chest.
My body remained tense, ready to react even now.
I kept backing away, putting real distance between us.
Not running.
Not rushing.
Just… leaving.
The smell of blood still clung to me as I moved through the trees, the warmth of the meat pressing faintly against my palm.
And somewhere during those last few steps, a strange realization settled into me.
What I had just done should've felt impossible.
Insane.
A starving man walking up to a tiger in the middle of its meal and leaving alive with part of its kill.
Yet my thoughts weren't stuck on the danger anymore.
Not on the claws.
Not on those eyes.
Not even on how close I had come to dying.
Instead, all I could think about now was starting a fire before something else caught the scent.
For a moment, that realization unsettled me more than the tiger itself.
Then I exhaled quietly and kept walking.