A Tale of Jaguars

Picking up the Piecies

Tygra woke to the smell of medicine and antiseptic. He blinked, trying to shake sleep off his eyes. Wherever he was, it wasn't his room. The faint smell of sex that seemed to permeate his bedroom was noticeably absent. He savoured the different air for short moments before starting to worry about why exactly he wasn't in his quarters. He pushed himself up to better inspect where he was, and pain in his lower regions made him gasp. He groaned as he lay down again. It seemed as if every one of his muscles was in pain. It forced him to remember what had happened.

The horror of the situation fell down on him. Tygra closed his eyes and felt tears starting to form. He turned on his side. The constant pain on his behind guaranteed that he couldn't just close himself to the world and ignore what had happened. He vaguely realized that he must be in the healer wing, with the shamans. He had learned that the shamans were pretty much the equivalent to the clerics. Mages and healers all in one. He must have been badly injured for Jareid to not just leave him where he had been. Or maybe the jaguar had, and some other cat had found him.

Sadness was suddenly overcome by deep embarrassment, and Tygra sobbed in misery. How many people had realized? At the very least the shamans would now be aware of the dynamics between him and the jaguar prince. Tygra shuddered to think about what would be said about him. Whatever semblance of privacy that he had wanted to retain would be gone.

He heard a door opening and braced himself to face whoever was going to check on him. He hadn't been expecting the familiar voice of Bengali, but that was exactly what he got.

"Prince Tygra? Are you awake?"

The tiger looked up in surprise at the servant. He was at a loss of words for some seconds, before relief at not been facing a complete stranger settled in. Though shame at his situation immediately followed.

"B-Ben."

The white tiger smiled at him.

"Good to see you are responsive. How are you feeling?"

That did it. Tygra knew that Bengali was aware of his injuries, and likely of the way they were inflicted. He dropped his head and tried unsuccessfully to stop the tears that ran freely down his cheeks. Bengali's arms were around him in an instant, and he sobbed in misery. The older tiger hugged him tightly and manoeuvred a little to get him as comfortable as possible. The movement hurt. Tygra whimpered and clenched his fists. Some part of his mind was screaming at him for showing weakness, but he shut it up. He didn't care anymore. He wasn't strong enough to deny himself the small comfort of kind arms. He'd feel ashamed later, but for the moment he allowed Bengali to hold him as he cried his eyes out.

Tygra looked morosely at the ample green and flowery space some meters below him. His room had a balcony, large enough for a small, square, table and two chairs, and there was still space for him to walk around. It was two stories above one of the gardens. A big one. It was the most exuberant garden Tygra had seen, not only because he didn't know half of the plants growing in it, but also because the paths, columns, fountains, benches and everything else adorning it were made of rare and precious stones. At least that was what they looked like from the balcony. Tygra had not yet worked up the courage to ask, and seeing that for all intents and purposes he was confined to his room for the foreseeable future, he wasn't in the position to go and investigate himself.

He sighed dejectedly. He could hear faint noises from the training courtyard. He wished he could go and join the activity. It had only been a day and a half, and he was already sick of his room. He looked at the table where he had been writing his homework. The books and notes could only distract him for some hours. He wanted to go outside. He looked forwards again and leaned on the balcony railing. Beyond the garden he could see the wall and the outline of the jungle that surrounded the city.