The tiger accepted the new demands that were being placed increasingly upon the shoulders of his friend, and was content with the few moments spent in his company. Normally the prince would enter in the late afternoon, greet the tiger, and stroll briskly around the perimeter of the enclosure before leaving again. One day, however, the prince came early in the morning, walked slowly and wordlessly to the small pool, and sat down at its edge.

The tiger sat wordlessly beside the prince for several minutes, watching as the prince distractedly plucked blades of grass one by one and tossed them into the pool. Finally the tiger spoke.

“Is something bothering you, my friend?”

The prince turned then and wrapped his arms around the tiger. He pulled the tiger close to him and pressed his cheek into the tiger’s fur. “Do you remember,” the prince quietly asked, “when we were both young and would spend hours roaming the jungle outside these walls?”

“Of course,” said the tiger. “Some of my fondest memories.”

“I used to love sneaking outside the palace walls. I had no worries, then.”

“I loved it when you came,” the tiger said.

“I was so foolish. I thought nothing could hurt me. I didn’t fear for my safety or what would happen if I were hurt.”

“I watched out for you.”

“Yes. The panther! Oh, my friend, I’m so sorry for the danger I put you in.”

“Bah!” said the tiger. “That panther was no match for me.”

“Oh!” the prince said. “I wish, somehow, I could go back to those days.”

“What would you do differently?” asked the tiger.

“Not to do it differently. Just to do it again. To appreciate it more. To live it longer, more fully, to be more aware of its transience.”

“Isn’t that why you brought me here? So you could keep spending time with me whenever you wanted?”

“It was never the same after we put you in this … this cage.”

The tiger pulled away from the prince and looked at him. “You told me it was a home. You You said it wasn’t a cage.”

The prince pulled up another blade of grass and examined it. “Oh, you know what I mean. This is a beautiful home for you. But it’s not like it was. Half of the fun of spending time with you was that seeing you was against the rules.”

“Ah,” said the tiger, still unsure.

“Now, though, everything is … I don’t know. Premeditated. Scheduled. Known. Where is the excitement?” He took the blade of grass in his hands and split it slowly down the center. “Will we ever have it again?”

“I still enjoy our time together.”

“Yes,” the prince said. “But I can see in your eyes that you aren’t as happy as you once were.”

“I understand the realities of your position,” the tiger said.

“My new position,” the prince said, throwing the divided grass blade into the pool.

“New position? What do you mean?”

“My father died last night,” the prince said. “I am no longer a prince. I am now the king.”

“Oh,” said the tiger, suddenly unsure what to say. “Oh.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said the prince. The king.

“My condolences for the loss of your father,” the tiger said after a moment. “And congratulations for your new … kingship. Is that the word?”

“Save your congratulations. I don’t want to be king. I want to go back. Let me be a little boy again, sneaking outside to play with a tiger.”

But that wasn’t the way the world worked. And the tiger knew it. And the king knew it. They both sat and stared into the pool until the king knew he could no longer hide. He stood wordlessly, nodded to the tiger, and left to assume his new duties.

* * * * *

After that, the tiger saw the king only rarely. Most of the time, it was only when a visiting dignitary was being shown around. The king and the visitor would enter the tiger’s enclosure, the visitor would ooh and ah over the magnificence of the construction and contents, the king would summon the tiger, the visitor would try to act brave and seek for a reason to leave as quickly as possible, and the two would leave, with the king giving a farewell wink and a nod to the tiger.

But every once in a while, the king would appear alone. He would call to the tiger, say, “Walk with me,” and pace the perimeter, just as the tiger had done when it was first brought there. Sometimes the king would speak aloud of problems he was wrangling, or decisions he was debating. But it wasn’t unusual for the king and the tiger to walk wordlessly around and around until at last the king retired. The tiger never minded hearing about the king’s dilemmas, and tried to offer sage advice whenever possible. Surprisingly, though, the tiger found itself enjoying those walks even more when the king didn’t speak. It was a companionable silence. A silence and a void shared by two friends, friends who didn’t need the masquerade of language to enter into the quiet place in each other’s heart and simply exist there, together.

Those times were rare, however. And in between those times stretched the interminable echoes of loneliness and abandonment, of hopes and dreams crushed and washed away like dirt in the tiger’s pool. The tiger’s life was becoming a blur of sorrow, with sharp accents of happiness strewn here and there, bright spots of sunlight falling through the leaves of the trees.

Then one day the king appeared again, his smile almost too large for the tiger to believe that it was really the king’s face behind it.

“I can never be a little boy again,” said the king with excitement. “But you, my friend, you can go back. Oh, how I envy you!”

The tiger didn’t know how to respond to this, but just cocked its head and twitched its ears.

“A baby! My wife is going to have a baby!” the king said. “And the two of you will be such good friends. It will be just like it was before. For you, at least. Oh, I’m so happy, I could dance!”

The king ran to the tiger, knelt, and threw his arms around it. “Didn’t you hear? A baby! Ha ha!”

The tiger sat stunned. “I don’t know what to say. I’m happy for you, of course. That’s fabulous news. When is the arrival expected?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the king said. “That’s for women to know. The important thing is, you’ll have a playmate again.”

“A playmate,” the tiger said, thoughtfully. “I’m pleased that you’re having a baby. I am. But how do you know that we’ll be friends?”

“It will be my child,” the king said. “Of course you’ll be friends!”

“It will also be the child of your mate,” said the tiger.

“Oh, fiddlesticks. Just wait and see! You’ll get along swimmingly.” The king got up and walked away, saying as he went, “A baby! Ha ha! A baby!”

“Swimmingly,” said the tiger to itself after the king left. “Swimmingly.”

“The solution to what?” said the tiger.

“Here,” said the prince. He held out his hand to the tiger and showed him a set of short ropes all tied together.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the tiger said.

“It’s called a muzzle,” said the prince. “And it’s the only way my wife will agree to join us.”

“What does it do?” asked the tiger.

“See, this part goes around the back of your head, this part over the top of your mouth, and this wraps around the bottom of your mouth.”

The tiger puzzled over that for a moment. “And what is the purpose of it? Surely it’s not a fashion statement.”

“No, I told you. It’s a muzzle,” the prince said. “It’s to make sure you can’t bite anyone.”

“You know very well that I won’t bite anyone!” the tiger said. “You don’t need to put a muzzle on me for that!”

“Yes, my friend. I do know that. You would never bite anyone. But my wife, she is still afraid of you. She won’t come back unless you’re wearing this.”

“And how will I talk if I can’t open my mouth?” asked the tiger.

“I won’t tighten it completely, of course. Just enough so that my wife doesn’t have to worry about being bitten.”

“Look, this is ridiculous,” the tiger said. “Just tell her that I won’t bite her. She will trust you, and then she will learn very soon to trust me as well.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” the prince said. “I’ve spent the past night trying to convince her to come back and get to know you better. But she wouldn’t come. Not until I agreed to the muzzle.”

“And if I refuse to wear it for her?”

“Then I suppose she will never come back.”

“Frankly, that seems to be something that I can learn to live with,” the tiger said.

“And I suppose that she will ask me not to come so often as well,” the prince said.

The tiger paused and considered. “Tell her to come. I will wear the muzzle.”

“Let’s make sure it fits properly first,” the prince said.

He placed the muzzle around the tiger’s face, pulled it over the back of its head, and tightened it. The tiger felt its mouth clamp shut under the pressure of the ropes.

“A little looser, if you please,” the tiger said, working its lips as best it could through clenched teeth. It found it could still talk, but it definitely wasn’t as easy.

“No, that’s just right,” the prince said. “You can still talk, and your mouth can’t open enough for your teeth to be a menace.”

“My teeth would never be a menace to anyone.”

“You and I both know that. This muzzle isn’t for either of us. It’s for her,” the prince said. “With this muzzle on, she will know that your mouth can’t open enough for your teeth to be a menace to her. And who knows? Maybe after a while, she will start to trust you, and we won’t have to play this silly game any longer.”

“Silly,” said the tiger. “That’s exactly how this feels right now.”

“Okay, that looks good,” the prince said. “Let me run and fetch her.”

And with that, he was back out the door. The tiger was left alone, feeling very silly, and very restrained, and very uncomfortable in the muzzle. It looked up at the birds chittering in the trees above.

“If any of you breathe a word about this to anyone!” the tiger breathed out through the muzzle. “I’ll … I’ll … I’ll eat you!” It tried to let out a ferocious roar to drive the point home, but with the ropes around its mouth, the roar just sort of died in its throat, and didn’t sound very threatening at all.

It scratched its nose with a giant paw, trying very hard not to feel self-conscious. “As soon as I get this thing off me,” it added.

The tiger was sure the birds were laughing at it as they flew off.

The tiger thought of every reason to excuse the prince’s delay. Certainly the prince was on his way to visit when an old acquaintance caught him, rushed him into his house with offers of food and refreshment and demanded to be informed of all the details of the prince’s long journey. Certainly the prince tried to extricate himself as quickly as he could, only to be accosted by another old acquaintance. Or maybe matters of state kept the prince. With an absence of so many years, certainly the prince had much to attend to in his duties. Certainly the prince would have come to visit if he could have. Or maybe the prince’s parents had decided that the tiger was too dangerous to visit after all, and had forbidden him from coming at all. Certainly if that were the case, it would be a long time before the prince would finally be able to slip away unnoticed to visit. But certainly he would. Certainly he would.

And thus the time passed away agonizingly slowly for the tiger. Each new sound brought its head up. And each time it determined that the sound was not that of the prince returning, its head sunk more and more heavily down beside its paws as it lay by the pool and tried to find another excuse as to why the prince had not yet arrived. Eventually night fell, and the tiger knew it must wait again until morning.

The long night passed and the tiger knew that today would be the day. It could feel it in the bright rays of sunlight that seemed to glitter around it. It could hear it in the song of the birds flitting from tree to tree. It could taste it in the cool water from the pool, so clear and pure and full of life. Its every sense was attuned to the energy and vitality of the day. Certainly this would be the day.

And so when night again fell without any sign of the prince, the tiger’s heart sunk once more, deeper and darker and more lifelessly than it had ever sunk before. In vain the tiger tried to find an excuse for the prince’s continued absence. Its mind wasn’t working, though, and it sat and stared into the water as dusk’s light fled. “The prince isn’t coming today because …” it began. “Because … because …” But it couldn’t think of anything. And so it fell asleep, the word “because” echoing in its mind and haunting its sleep.

When morning dawned, however, the because had been completed. “Why, the tiles in the palace must all be dirty, and the servants aren’t cleaning them as they should, and the prince must watch over them night and day to ensure that the job is done properly.” Certainly that would explain the prince’s absence. Certainly that must be why the prince had not yet come. But that job would only take a few days, at most, and certainly the prince would be finishing up the task today, and so certainly, certainly, the prince would come today.

Thus it continued. Two days. Three days. Four days. Five days. Seven days. Eleven days. Twelvety-seven days. And what came after twelvety-seven? The tiger couldn’t remember. And it soon lost track. All it knew was that the prince wasn’t there. And where the prince should have been, a hole was growing larger and larger and was about to swallow the tiger up. All of the light was being swallowed up by this hole. All of the light and all of the life. All of the tiger’s energy, and all of its hopes were slowly being swallowed up and replaced by this hole, this nothingness, this absence. And what excuses could remain for the prince? Had the prince forgotten his toothbrush and been forced to travel back to retrieve it? Had the prince been locked in a room and forced to memorize all of the laws of the kingdom before he was allowed to leave? Was the prince sick?

Oh no! The prince was certainly sick. Certainly that was it. The prince was sick, and here was the tiger, feeling bad for itself, when its best friend certainly lingered near death. Oh, what a terrible friend the tiger was, to be so selfish when its friend was struggling each hour just to continue to live. Oh, how the tiger wished that the prince would remember what to do when sick! Just eat a little grass. That would help. Had the prince forgotten? He hadn’t picked up on all of the lessons that the tiger tried to teach him so long ago. The tiger hoped and hoped that the prince would remember. A little grass would make everything all better. And then, after the prince got better, he could come see the tiger and they could play together again.

And the longer and longer the prince didn’t show up, the sillier and sillier became the tiger’s excuses, until at last the tiger was forced to admit that there was no excuse. The prince simply didn’t want to see the tiger any longer. The friendship was over, and the tiger was forgotten.

Then one day it happened. The door creaked open, and the tiger, who had stopped even listening for the sound, raised its head in puzzled wonder. Why was the door opening? Confused, it got up to see what had caused that curious sound. It padded over toward the door, and was surprised when two figures walked in and closed the door behind them. One was tall and had a full beard and moved with confidence and poise. The other was quite shorter and was of a smaller frame and moved with timidity and carefulness. Who were these people? Why had they come instead of the prince? The tiger was so surprised that it forgot to be cautious. It forgot to hide. It forgot to watch from behind a tree. It just stood on the path, its mouth open in wonder.

And when the smaller person saw the tiger, she let out a scream.

“Oh! There it is! I’m so afraid,” she said.

“Hush now. Don’t be scared,” the man said, and he laughed. And in that instant, the tiger laughed as well. It laughed with its mouth, and it also laughed with its heart. For it knew the voice of the man. It was the prince, returned at last.

The tiger bounded toward the prince, and the girl screamed again and pressed herself against the door, and the prince laughed again and rushed forward to embrace the tiger.

“Oh, it’s been such a long time,” said the prince, as he hugged the tiger and grabbed bunches of its fur in both hands.

“It has indeed,” said the tiger, nuzzling into the prince. “What kept you so long?”

“It’s so good to see you, my old friend,” said the prince. “I’ve brought someone I’d like you to meet.”

The prince motioned to the girl, who came haltingly up to stand just behind the prince. She peered around the prince at the tiger.

“This is my new wife,” said the prince to the tiger. “This is the friend I told you about,” he said to his wife.

“I’m so very pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the tiger, stepping around the prince.

“Oh! I think it’s trying to bite me!” said the girl, circling around behind the prince once more.

“Nonsense,” said the prince. “It would never hurt you. This is my friend, remember?”

“I will not harm you,” said the tiger.

“Oh! It’s looking at me! Make it stop! Get it away!” said the girl.

The prince laughed. “Come now. Settle down. There is no danger.”

“Oh! How can you be so close to it?” the girl said. “Just look at its menacing stripes! Look at its fearsome face with its sharp teeth! Look at those powerful muscles and its sharp claws!”

The tiger beamed with pride. “Yes, well, my claws are retractable, you see. They weren’t even extended.” And it held up a paw to more properly show off its claws.

“Oh! Get it away! It’s trying to kill me!” the girl shouted.

“Calm down, will you?” said the prince. “It won’t hurt you.”

“I’ll calm down when you show me out of here!” the girl responded. “Oh! It’s looking at me again! Make it stop!”

“Forgive me, old friend,” said the prince. “But I don’t think this is going all that well. Do you?”

“It appears not,” said the tiger.

“I shall have to return at a later time,” said the prince. “Come, dear. I will save you from this fearsome beast.”

“Stop talking and let’s just go!” said the girl.

With that, the prince opened the door and let the girl out. He gave one last sad look at the tiger, and then followed his wife through the door, closing it softly behind him.

The tiger strode to the door, and rubbed up against it. The prince had returned. He was still its friend. He had a mate, and he was happy. And maybe his mate didn’t like the tiger, but the prince was still its friend. He was still its friend. Could life be any better?

Then the tiger heard through the door as the prince and his mate walked slowly away.

“What were you thinking bringing me in there with that beast?” asked the prince’s mate.

“I just wanted you to meet my friend,” said the prince.

“Friend?” said the girl. “I could have been killed! I could have been eaten alive!”

“No, it’s not like that,” said the prince. “The tiger and I are friends. It would never hurt you.”

“It shall never have the chance!” said the girl. “I shall never go back! I won’t be tiger bait!”

“Oh, come now,” said the prince. “You have to give the tiger a chance. Once you get to know it, you’ll see.”

“Give it a chance?” said the girl. “Are you out of your mind? A chance to what? Eat me? Just take one bite, to see if it likes me? I don’t think so.”

“No, see, it isn’t a mean tiger,” said the prince.

And then the words became too muffled and distant to hear. The tiger thought it made out the word “friend” once more, but the rest of the prince’s words were lost. The tiger lay down beside the door, all of the excitement and anticipation of this day flowing through its body, and then draining out of it, leaving the tiger weak and exhausted. What could it have done better? Was the prince disappointed in the way it behaved around his new mate? Would it ever be able to be friends with his mate? Would this hurt its friendship with the prince?

So many unanswered questions. And no way to talk to the prince. Until the prince made his next visit. And the tiger had no idea when that would be. It thought it had been hard to wait until now. How would it wait until the prince’s next visit? What could it do to salvage the girl’s friendship?

But one thing was sure. The prince had called it his friend. With the prince’s friendship, the tiger knew it could survive anything. And so it lay beside the door and waited once more.

The tiger spent an eternity beside the pool, thinking with joy of the prince. Then it spent an eternity pacing the well-worn paths, imagining what the prince’s mate would be like. Afterward, it spent an eternity sharpening its claws on the bark of the tree, wondering if today was the day the prince would return. Its next eternities were spent trying to spot the prince’s face in the formations of the clouds overhead, running imaginary races with the prince, curling up beneath its favorite bush and falling asleep to the image of the prince, waking and wondering what the prince was currently doing, pacing along the walls and remembering days spent with the prince, searching for bugs in the remains of a fallen tree and thinking to itself how much the prince would love to be there. But after all those eternities, the sun hadn’t moved very far in the sky, and there were so many more eternities to face before nightfall and happy, senseless slumber, that the tiger didn’t know quite how it would survive until then.

Each eternity that passed brought with it a dagger to slice a small part off the heart of the tiger. But the tiger wasn’t sad. It refused to be lonely. That would be selfish. Instead, it was happy for the prince, and when each eternity passed, and when each dagger came, the tiger looked the other way and didn’t notice that its heart was slowly being sliced away, tiny piece by tiny piece.

Sleep. That was the one place the tiger could find comfort. If it could have figured out a way to do it, it would have slept right through those two years. Sleep, unfortunately, could only be pursued for so long. But when it was asleep, the pain in its heart wasn’t so noticeable. The heaviness and slowness of its movements weren’t seen. And sometimes, if it was lucky, the tiger would dream of the prince, and it would wake smiling, only to confront the reality and see another portion of its heart sliced away.

And when it wasn’t sleeping, it still felt like it was half asleep. It felt like its mind worked more slowly, its body moved more slowly, its smile came far less often, and it had no ambition to do anything other than find another place to sleep away the years til the prince returned.

Somehow the days passed. Somehow the seasons changed. Somehow the years ended. The tiger’s heart had been cut down so small, though, at the end, that it barely raised its head when the shout was heard that the prince was returning. It barely knew why it dragged itself away from its comfortable spot beside the pool, or why it moved slowly to the door between it and the palace. As if still in a dream, the tiger waited at the gate, listlessly peering between the small cracks in the heavy wooden door.

Slowly the happiness of the people it could see beyond the door penetrated into its heart. Slowly it began to realize what this meant. Slowly the cobwebs that had settled on its mind were brushed away by the thought that the day that the tiger had feared would never come was indeed here at last.

Suddenly the tiger felt a rush of energy, an excitement it had not known since the prince had bid goodbye all those eternities ago. It began to pace outside the door, circling around and around, and each time it passed the door, stopping for the briefest moment to peer once more through the cracks to see if it could determine when at last the door would fly open and the prince would enter and they would at last embrace again.

The excitement and noise of the crowd beyond the door grew louder and louder, and the tiger’s pacing grew quicker and quicker. Finally, the tiger was certain that the throng was right outside the door, and suddenly the tiger didn’t know what to do. Should it wait right beside the door and allow the prince to see its excitement? Should it quickly back off a few paces and lie down and pretend to be asleep? Should it feign nonchalance and be examining nearby rocks when the door flew open? What would the prince want to see his friend doing when at last they were reunited?

Despite any ideas of doing anything else, there was no time, the crowd was pressing around the door, and the tiger couldn’t do anything but freeze where it was beside the door, intently watching and impatiently waiting, its tail twitching in anticipation, its muscles straining against the pressure of having to keep still. And then, suddenly, the crowd moved on, and the noise outside got quieter, and the tiger couldn’t understand why the door remained closed.

Maybe the prince wasn’t really back yet. Maybe that was the first group that had gone on ahead to the palace, carrying the prince’s supplies. Maybe the prince was coming along behind, alone, waiting for a chance to enter the tiger’s home unmolested by the hordes of people. The tiger strained its ears, listening for all its might, trying its best to peer through the cracks, hoping to catch sight of the prince.

The noise outside was all but gone now. In the distance the tiger could hear muffled laughter, soft shouts of joy, quiet exclamations of greeting and good cheer. But right outside the door, nothing, nobody. The tiger sat silently, staring at the door, unable to believe what just happened.

Long seconds passed, and the tiger’s mind was completely blank. Seconds turned into minutes, and its mind was numb. Minutes began to lengthen, too, and the tiger’s numbness shifted toward pain, and from pain to anger. “Why, that ungrateful little brat,” the tiger began to say. And then it caught itself. No. No! How could it think such a thing? Its friend was the best friend a tiger could have. Surely it was just being selfish. It wasn’t considering the great stress of travel. Of course the prince would be exhausted. Nor was it giving just due to the many duties an absent prince must attend to. Why, of course he couldn’t come visit the tiger the first thing when he got back. He had many things that he had to do first. Certainly he would come tomorrow.

And so the tiger waited once more. And all the eternities it had waited before seemed to combine again into a single monumental eternity that it must endure once more before it would be allowed to see its friend. But it would all be worth it when the sun rose the next morning and the prince opened the door. It would certainly all be worth it.

If only, somehow, the tiger could make it through the night. If only, somehow, the sun really would rise. If only, somehow, there could be anything left of the tiger’s heart by morning, after all of eternity sliced away at it during the long dark night.

The first day the tiger explored the enclosure and kept finding itself all too soon at another wall, from which it quickly retreated. The second day it had learned the layout better, and remained in the center, out of sight of any of the walls. The third day, it walked along the edge of the wall, wearing down a path from the many times it traversed the perimeter. The fourth day, when it found itself alone, the tiger lay at the edge of the pool and shed silent tears into the water.

But it wasn’t all bad. The prince came every day, and in the excitement of their renewed friendship, the tiger thought it could endure a lot more hardship than mere walls. The pain of their separation was wiped away almost completely by the joy of being together once more. The tiger decided it could be happy with this arrangement.

And for the most part, it was. The tiger looked forward to the prince’s visits every day, and without fail the prince came. They laughed and joked together. They climbed trees and raced. They enjoyed each other and knew, at the end of each day, that tomorrow was only a short time away.

The hours lengthened, though, when the prince wasn’t there. Normally the tiger would have hunted, but there was no prey to speak of in its new home. The tiger did enjoy its naps, but soon found it could only nap for so many hours before it grew weary of the activity and longed for exercise. It traced and retraced the paths through the enclosure until that too grew boring. It spent hours grooming itself beside the pool, looking into its silvery surface to ensure that not one hair was out of place. It counted birds, or tried to; the blasted creatures kept flying around so that it was never sure if it had already counted that one or not. It followed ants, searched for patterns in the bark of trees, played hide and seek with mindless butterflies, and paced and paced and paced and paced.

It asked the prince one day to be allowed to hunt.

“But you don’t need to hunt anymore,” the prince replied. “You are given food twice a day, and far better than you could ever catch yourself.”

“The meats are of the highest quality, I admit,” the tiger said. “But it’s not exactly a challenge to sneak up on a steak.”

“If you want a challenge, I could try to teach you how to read again.”

“Perhaps it’s not the challenge itself,” said the tiger, “but the thrill of creeping up slowly, the satisfaction of patience being rewarded at last, the anticipation of jumping out of hiding, the fear that I might not be quick enough, and the triumph when at last I eat.”

“Perhaps,” said the prince. “Perhaps I could talk father into letting a goat into the enclosure every once in a while.”

“A goat?” asked the tiger. “A goat would be scarcely better than a steak already sliced and delivered. Just let me out into the jungle for a few hours.”

“Let you out?” the prince said. “I couldn’t let you out. Why do you think we built this new home for you?”

“I would come back after each hunt,” the tiger said.

“You know that, and I know that. But this enclosure isn’t for either of us. It’s to appease my father and my mother. They don’t trust the dangers of the jungle.”

“You could tell them that I’d come back,” said the tiger.

“But what else would come back with you?” the prince said. “No. They’d worry that the gate might one day be left open, and who could say what might wander in? The only way this works is if the gate is closed, night and day.”

“Hunting, then, is a thing of the past,” the tiger said.

“And rightly so. We feed you well enough now. You don’t need to hunt anymore. You don’t need to hunt ever again.”

“Never again,” said the tiger. And the finality of those words sunk deep into its heart.

But with the prince visiting every day, the tiger felt it was a small price to pay. And after all, if it wasn’t ever hungry, maybe the prince was right. Maybe it didn’t need to hunt any more. And over time, with the prince for company, eventually the tiger passed a whole day without even thinking of the hunt. Dozens of new moons passed high overhead, and the tiger found that it only thought of hunting every once in a great while. Dozens more, and the desire to hunt came about only as often as the new moon. And when at last so many new moons had come and gone that the tiger had completely lost track, it one day realized that it had almost forgotten that it had ever wanted to hunt at all.

It wasn’t long after that when the prince announced, on one of his daily visits, that he was going away.

“And when I return, I will bring back a wife,” the prince proudly explained.

“You are selecting a mate?” said the tiger. And it looked at him with fresh eyes and realized that the prince was now the size of a man.

“She has been selected for me already. I just need to travel to her, make arrangements, and bring her back.”

“How long will you be gone?” asked the tiger.

“Probably not more than two years,” said the prince.

“While you are gone, will you let me out so that I too may select a mate?”

“Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I don’t know what father would say about having two tigers in here. And one of them straight from the jungle.”

“I see,” the tiger said. “So, for our friendship, you expect me not to have a mate?”

“For our friendship,” repeated the prince. “That’s the spirit.”

“Very well,” said the tiger. “I’ve given up so much already. One more thing won’t hurt.”

The prince knelt down and embraced the tiger. “You are beautiful,” he said. “Just look at these wonderful stripes. Look at this fearsome face, and these long, bright whiskers. Feel these powerful muscles. You are the best friend I could ever hope for. I won’t be gone long. You’ll see.”

And with that, the prince left the tiger. And the tiger no longer had a companion that came to visit every day. The days were long. The hours were longer. The minutes longer still. And the seconds seemed to the tiger to be an eternity, each one of them. But it waited, trusting in the words of the prince, knowing that eventually those two years would pass, and they would once again be reunited.

To be continued…

At last the tiger decided that it could no longer hold out hope for the prince’s return, and it wandered farther and farther from the palace in its hunts. But even though the day soon came when it told itself that it would no longer wait on the prince, it still found itself retracing the paths back to the palace each day.

And finally the prince did return to the jungle. The tiger knew almost the instant that the prince set foot in the jungle, yet it remained hidden in the jungle, watching the prince. The prince called for the tiger, but the tiger did not answer. The prince traveled through the jungle, visiting all of the places where the tiger and he had liked to go, calling for the tiger as he went, and becoming increasingly agitated. When the prince arrived at the place where the tiger had fought the panther, he sat and hung his head and cried into his hands.

“Why do you cry, my fine young prince?” said the tiger at last.

“Oh!” cried the prince, jumping to his feet and rushing to embrace the tiger. “I thought you had left me!”

“You thought I had left you?” demanded the tiger. “What was I to think during your long absence?”

“I’m so sorry,” the prince said. “My parents would not permit me to return to the jungle when they learned I had befriended and tamed a tiger. They said it was much too dangerous to be out here all alone and unprotected.”

“Did they not find my company and my protection sufficient?” the tiger asked. “Who did they think saved you from the panther?”

“But I’ve found the solution. My father has agreed to build you a home in the palace, and I can visit you there.”

“A home in the palace? My home is here, in the jungle,” the tiger said.

“But I’m not to be allowed to come to the jungle any more,” the prince explained. “The only way I will be able to see you is if you come live with me in the palace.”

“I can’t live in the palace. I’ve already forgotten all the rules about which clothes to wear for which occasions and which fork to use first. And I fear my claws would scratch the floor.”

“No, silly!” said the prince. “It wouldn’t be in a home. My father would build you an enclosure, and it would be just like the jungle inside.”

“An enclosure,” the tiger said. “You mean a cage.”

“Not a cage. A place like this, just with walls around it. It would be just like your home.”

“I already have a home. One without any walls around it.”

“But I can’t see you. I thought we were friends,” the prince said.

“We are friends,” said the tiger. “You live in the palace, and I live in the jungle. And we are friends.”

“We won’t be able to be friends any longer. I will be in the palace, and you will be in the jungle, and we shall never see each other again.”

“Very well,” said the tiger. “I treasure your friendship, and I have been miserable without you. I shall come to live with you in the palace. Have your father build me the enclosure.”

“Oh, I’m so happy!” the prince said. “I can’t wait to tell my father.”

And with that, the prince ran back to the palace, leaving the tiger sitting in the jungle wondering if it had just made a mistake. Many days passed once more, and the tiger watched as workers came out and extended the walls of the palace, swallowing up just a little bit more of the jungle. And finally the work stopped, and the tiger knew that the time would soon come when the prince would return to the jungle. And then the long period of their separation would be forever at an end. And the worry in the pit of the tiger’s stomach grew and grew.

To be continued…

In their many visits, the tiger taught the prince how to travel safely and stealthily through the jungle. It taught him how to listen to the sounds of the other animals, and what the absence of some sounds meant. It taught him how to understand direction and how not to get lost. It taught him how to climb trees and how to hide and how to hold very still. It tried to teach him how to hunt, but the prince had no knack for it, and the tiger soon grew weary and frustrated of trying to teach the prince how to spring out quickly from bushes, or how to unsheathe his claws, or how to bare his teeth and roar ferociously.

The prince shared his knowledge with the tiger as well. He taught the tiger about astronomy, about geography, and politics. He taught letters and numbers, though the tiger struggled with reading and writing and couldn’t seem to appreciate the usefulness of math. He taught the customs of the palace, which fork to use at which time, and how to dress for different occasions. And he told the tiger many stories, stories that he heard from his mother as a very young child, stories he learned from his tutors, and stories about things that he had seen and heard for himself, stories about people and places and things that the tiger could only shake its head about and wonder if they could possibly be true.

But most of all, when they got together, the prince and the tiger learned about friendship. The prince learned that friendship was being jumped on and tackled and nipped in the legs and the back of the head. The tiger learned that friendship was being dared and teased and called silly names. And they both learned that friendship was being open and giving and laughing together. Years passed, and the prince grew taller, the tiger stronger, and their friendship more trusting.

One day as they were walking and joking and laughing with each other, the jungle around them suddenly became silent. The prince did not notice, and continued his teasing of the tiger, but the tiger immediately stopped walking and looked around, trying to find the source of the trouble. The prince walked a few paces past the tiger and then turned around to see why it had stopped. Suddenly the tiger leaped straight toward the prince with such malice and determination on its face that the prince cried out, stumbled backward, and fell. And a good thing, too, for where the prince had been standing only moments before, now the tiger was battling a massive panther.

The fight was too animated for the prince to follow very well. He was too frightened and shocked to tell what was happening. He only heard the snarls and roars and howls. He only saw the claws slashing, the fangs attempting to bite and tear, the bodies rolling together on the jungle floor. Then suddenly with a yelp it was over and the panther streaked away, leaving the tiger slumped on the ground. The prince rushed to the tiger’s side.

“Are you okay?” the prince cried out.

The tiger raised its head. “I am well enough. I don’t suppose that panther will be coming back for more any time soon. Did you see the pounding I gave him?”

“You saved my life,” said the prince.

“Of course I did,” said the tiger. “And you would do the same for me. Is that not what friends do?”

“I don’t think I could have taken on a panther,” admitted the prince.

“Then it was a good thing I was with you,” the tiger said, getting to its feet.

“Oh! You’re hurt!” the prince said, pointing to the tiger’s side.

“It’s not my blood,” the tiger said. “I put a few holes in that panther before I sent it on its way.”

“No, look,” the prince said. And indeed it was true; the tiger was bleeding from a gash on its side.

“Must have nicked myself in all the confusion,” the tiger said.

“That’s no nick,” the prince said. “You are gravely wounded.”

“I’ll be fine,” said the tiger.

“That wound needs looked after,” insisted the prince. “Come with me to the palace. We have a doctor who will know just what to do.”

“If I enter the palace, the people there will be too afraid. They will kill me.”

“You will die just the same if you stay out here in the jungle.”

“Better to die in the jungle of an honest fight than in the palace from men with sharpened sticks.”

“We will just have to ensure that they aren’t afraid of you, then,” said the prince. “We shall make you my pet. Come with me.”

They traveled quickly to the palace walls, where the prince said, “Wait here for me to return,” before disappearing inside.

The tiger waited, and stewed, and tried to lick its wounded side, but couldn’t quite turn far enough because of the pain. And while it waited, it thought.

When at last the prince returned, the tiger said, “Before we enter the palace, I want to know. Are you sure this will work? The people won’t be afraid if they think I am your pet?”

“Trust me. If you stick close by my side and wear this around your neck, I can get you safely into the palace.” The prince held out a rope, at the end of which he had made a loop and fastened it with a knot.

“You’re going to tie me up?” the tiger asked. “I thought we were friends!”

“Only for show. Only to let people know that they are safe from you. Wearing this rope, and staying right beside me, everyone will know that you are a tame tiger and will not harm them. Then they won’t be afraid of you.”

“And you’ll let me go when we are done?”

“Of course. We are friends.”

“Very well,” said the tiger. “You may place the rope around my neck.”

And so it was that the tiger first felt a rope around its neck and first entered the palace where the prince lived. And true to his word, the people, although a little surprised at seeing the prince with a tiger, were not overly afraid and did not harm the tiger. And the tiger was seen and treated by the doctor, and a few weeks later, after the tiger was almost fully healed, the prince returned the tiger to the jungle and removed the rope from around its neck.

To be continued…

The prince soon learned that with so many tutors, it wasn’t that difficult for him to sneak away, allowing one tutor to think he was with another. He tried never to be gone for long, but he enjoyed slipping out beyond the palace walls and exploring the wonders of the jungle. He was caught but once, and brought abashedly before his father and mother, who scolded and warned him. “The jungle is a dangerous place, my son. Do not go alone into its depths.”

That did not deter the little prince. He simply took more care in arranging excuses for his absences. He delighted in the darkness, in the quiet sense of life, and yes, even in the dangers of the jungle. To the boy, danger was no more than play, a quickening of the pulse and a constricting of the throat, but never a threat to the flesh. What could happen to the son of a king? What creature would dare harm him?

One day, however, as he was slowly exploring another patch of the jungle, he failed to notice two large eyes intently watching him from behind a bush. He did not see a compact body crouch even lower and prepare to spring. He did not notice the small twitch at the end of a tail, or hear the claws unsheathed in anticipation.

The tiger, for its part, did not know what it was hunting. It heard the clumsy footsteps of an inexperienced creature. It saw the undergrowth move and swish and sway as its prey got closer. It narrowed its eyes and waited until its quarry was just barely close enough.

And then it leaped out of its hiding place, claws extended, blindly hurtling toward … toward … what was that thing?

The prince heard a rustling of leaves and turned just in time to see a streak of orange tipped with fierce black claws and sharp white teeth headed straight for him. Before he could think to move, the streak of orange, black, and white had hit him, and they both tumbled to the ground. But no claws had torn him. No teeth had bitten him. He got up and brushed himself off, searching for the tiger who had scampered off under cover of the dense undergrowth of the jungle.

“Hello!” he called. “Where are you? I won’t hurt you!”

“You won’t hurt me?” came back the haughty reply. “It is I who didn’t hurt you. Who are you?”

“I am the prince,” the prince said. “And, if you like, a friend.”

“Prince, I know. But friend?” said the tiger. “What is a friend?”

“Oh, well, a friend,” began the prince, scratching his head, suddenly unable to think how to describe it. “A friend is someone that you spend time with, that you do things with. Someone you like.”

“There are only two kinds of creatures in the jungle,” the tiger said. “Those you try to eat, and those that try to eat you.”

“I’m not either kind,” said the prince. “I’m a new kind. I’m the friend kind.”

“A new kind?” The tiger crept cautiously out of its hiding place and walked up to the prince, sniffing at him. “It’s true that I’ve never seen your kind before. Maybe you are a friend.”

“You are beautiful,” said the prince, stroking his fingers through the soft fur of the tiger. “Just look at these wonderful stripes! Look at this fearsome face, and these long, bright whiskers! Feel these powerful muscles! Oh! I am your friend! Will you be my friend?”

“That means I can’t eat you? A friend, hmmmm?” said the tiger, with some doubt. And then it decided. “Very well. A friend. I think I shall be your friend.”

And so began the unlikely friendship of a young tiger and a young prince. And so began many years of the prince stealing away from his tutors to spend time with the tiger, and of the tiger abandoning the hunt whenever the prince came calling.

To be continued…

He looked at me and shook his head. “Life doesn’t allow you to travel the same way twice. If I were there again today, knowing what I now know, I might choose differently–I would choose differently. But I don’t have the luxury of time travel.”

“If you would change it then, you can change it now.”

“Oftentimes in life, alternate paths meander beside each other for quite some time, and even though they rarely cross again, with effort you could travel cross-country, cutting through the undergrowth, fighting wild beasts, and eventually return to a lovelier path. Sometimes, though, a silent crevice separates the paths from each other, and it is impossible to get from where you are to where you want to be. You just have to stick with the path you are on, and see it through to the end.”

“I could help you, though,” I said. “I could help you across. It’s not as steep and not as rocky and not as dangerous as you fear.”

He turned to me sharply, then, and his words were hot. “You think I could get to where you are? You think that this one thing is all there is? If I could throw away everything else and walk over to you, it would be worth it. If the path were twice as long, and twice as dangerous, still I would walk it.” He paused, looking at the ground. When he continued he spoke softly again, and I was surprised to see his eyes were moist as they met mine. “But it’s not just about me. My desires don’t play into this anymore. The path I’m on is no longer about me. It’s about what’s right. It’s about making a difference. Even if the path to you were short and easy, I wouldn’t take it. Not now. If there were no obstacles, but it meant giving up everything I’ve worked so hard on, you know I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”

“You know I would never ask it of you,” I said, knowing full well that I would love nothing more than to ask it of him. “I respect you too much.” And I love you too fiercely.

“I know,” he said. And he smiled. The most glorious smile. “That’s what I like about you. You’re a better person than I.”

It wasn’t true, of course. But I didn’t mind that he believed it, so I said nothing.

He took his path. I took mine. I hoped they would cross again, but I knew they never would.