Altair stared intensely at the tiny, shivering ball of half-white, half-black fur.
The newborn tiger cub had rejected his generous bounty. It refused the freshly killed swamp rat. It turned its nose up at the squished marsh frog.
Altair tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing in confusion. Where he was from, a fresh rat was a great delicacy. What more could this tiny, ungrateful creature possibly want?
He reached out with one finger and gently nudged the dead rat closer to the cub's nose.
"It is fresh," Altair rumbled, his deep voice carrying a note of genuine encouragement. "I caught it myself. Eat."
The cub uncurled slightly. It opened its striking mismatched eyes and looked from the dead rodent to the giant, intimidating beastman. With a startling amount of attitude for an infant that was less than an hour old, the cub lifted its tiny paw and swatted Altair's finger away.
Altair blinked. He looked at his finger, then back at the cub.
