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djtenkuWord Count: 603
Summary: ...
Ever since he could remember, the boy had to fight for everything and steal whenever he can, and wandered. He had no name, and as far as he was concerned, no parents. It made him an outcast and the boy didn’t understand why. Perhaps it was his looks; he was tall and gaunt for his age, and his skin the color of chestnut. His hair was black and stringy, matted with dirt and mud. The villagers were mostly afraid of his eyes, which was the color of the midnight sky on a cloudless night and his faraway gaze was as deep as the ocean.
The boy decided to leave the small village, and disappeared into the night, hoping to find elsewhere to accept him. For days, he wandered the jungle, scrounging for food – anything edible, and for days, he starved. Only his will kept him alive, where a normal person would have died much sooner. The boy collapsed to his knees when he approached the bank of the river, digging his hands into the soft ground and submerging himself into the water, getting rid of dirt and grime.
His dark eyes searched the area as he heard rustling in the dense flora, and stood still as he spotted yellow eyes staring back at him in the pale moonlight. The boy felt no fear as the owner of the eyes came forth; a massive, old tiger that the villagers had named ‘Xiong Lang’. It was rumored that it was responsible for twenty deaths, including the boy’s parents – but it was only rumors. The tiger had a large scar above its eyes, and its canines protruded from its mouth. It snarled at him, demanding to know why this human dared to intrude its territory.
The boy continued to stare in defiance as it approached slowly, wondering what he should do. All of the stories and legends about Xiong Lang started to surface and a unfamiliar feeling started to surface. He began looking around for something feasible scare Xiong Lang; only a measly skinny stick with a sharpened edge. The tiger dashed, kicking up water and roaring and the boy lunged for the stick as Xiong Lang launched itself at him, mouth wide, its white teeth shining in the night.
The boy roared as well as he scooped up the stick and hurled it like a javelin at Xiong Lang. He moved as the tiger landed; Xiong Lang turned around baring its teeth for several moments, yellow eyes flitting about, and finally collapsed. Cautiously, the boy approached the tiger, and noticed the pointed end of the stick was now embedded in the massive tiger. The boy took it out and looked down at the dying animal.
He frowned at the sorry sight and scoffed. “Some legend you are,” he said as he drove the stick into the tiger’s heart, ending its reign of terror and beginning another. The boy smiled crudely as he knelt down, staring into its eyes and then at its coat. “I hope you don’t mind me taking your name and your skin.”
From then on, whenever he traveled, he wore the pelt of the tiger. It was a constant reminder to the boy that since day one that he had to fight to survive, by himself, and the first time that he ever killed any living thing. Legends began to spread at the death of the animal, and rumors spread as people saw the pelt of the tiger wrapped around a tall, gaunt boy whose eyes were as dark as night itself.
And eventually, they started calling him Xiong Lang.
