The tiger was weary. All night it had been on the prowl, weaving past the wolves, dogs, bulls, lions and bears that lived in star-like reticence in the black sky. It forded rivers that spanned galaxies, startling the sleeping dragons whose scales glittered like the brilliants in heaven's parure.
It had stumbled once or twice, knocking some stars loose from the plush firmament. Some fell, causing considerable excitement on a planet many light years away. But some stuck fast in the tiger's hazy bones, a promise of the starry silhouette that was to come. The tiger tried to shake itself free of the sparkling irritants but was unable to – its cloudy body merely changed shape across the twilight sky.
But now the air was changing color. Threads of lavender, amber, sapphire and gold glimmered in the vast fabric. Running from the iridescent light, the tiger found a cloud and wrapped itself in a bed of fog and rain.
For a brief time the tiger slept soundly. Unfortunately, it snored a little, bending the air currents into angles that the smaller birds found hard to navigate. Suddently it was awake. There was a noice – incessant, droning, loud and endless. The tiger looked: beneath it, smelling of oil and dirt, was a flock of steel crosses. It raised a cumulus-swathed claw to bat away the annoyances, but stopped. On the sides of these metallic bodies were inanimate red jaws and white, arched teeth.
This was a confusing sight, yes – but familiar too. So the tiger, out of consideration for these shrill relatives, pulled back its thunderous paw.
And the tiger went back to sleep, to dream of lingering adventures in silent, peaceful skies.