Shere Khan blinked as his eyes opened on the jungle of his long ago youth, more than a dozen years had passed since he had last awoken in his current resting place, in the jungle's canopy.
He frowned, tentatively clawing at the branch, causing the bark to peal and leaving whitish marks, his claws sharp but softer than he remembered, a cub's paw rather than the adult's he had grown into.
Had he finally lost his mind then? To the man-cub and the red-flower and his entrapment, the trickery of Bagheera's cub.
Or so rumor suggested, when he listened to the whispers. The man-cub who had grown among the wolves, but beloved by the Panther and Bear. Even the Monkey-King had shown an possessive interest in the man-cub, and Kaa, for all his words and assurances had been lying as sure as stripes on a tiger.
It was curious, Shere Khan considered, that all his old friends from his kittenish days should have taken an interest in the man-cub. He wondered if Hathi had as well, it would complete the set.
Why this man-cub? Why any man-cub?
Was Bagheera so desperate to thwart his rightful vendetta that he had gathered their once friends to protect the man-cub from his wraith?
Why did Bagheera act against him, when by all rights Bagheera should be just as angry with man and their actions as Shere Khan? He may have lost a mother, but Bagheera...
There was a sudden scream and a flash of orange fur disappearing upwards into the crown of the trees. A falsely cheerful voice called out from above him, "Um, nice kitty?"
For a hallucination, this was surprisingly life like, the scents and sounds of the jungle evoking memory upon memory, things he hadn't thought about for an age.
Like the voice of the young Monkey king.
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