Inside the dim, quiet cave, a young Sabertooth lay curled in the corner. Though smaller than the adults, his frame was filling out with dense, powerful muscle. His breathing was steady, lost in a deep sleep, until a sharp, sudden sting shot up from his hindquarters.
His eyes snapped open instantly.
"Ow... damn it! Who was that?!"
I scrambled to my feet, spinning around with a snarl. Zack was standing right there, staring at my tail with wide, baffled eyes. He'd clearly just tried to bat at it with his claws and managed to rip out a few tufts of fur in the process.
First you ruin my fox-tail pillow, now you're coming for the real thing?
I felt a surge of annoyance. I whipped my tail
Thwack
and slapped him right across the face.
Smack!
It wasn't a hard hit, but the sudden movement scared the hell out of him. He scrambled back, his own stubby tail tucked tight.
"Mrough??"
Zack stared at the long, furry thing twitching behind me. I could see the gears turning in his small brain.
Wait, that's Big Bro's tail? Why is it so long? Mine is just a nub...
"No reason, kid," I thought, clenching my jaw as I bared my teeth in a silent threat. "Touch it again and I'll tan your hide."
The threat worked. Zack was well-acquainted with my brand of tough love by now. He gave me a submissive whine and bolted to the other side of the cave.
I headed for the cave entrance to get some air, but then I felt another weight on my backend.
Zack again? Does he have a death wish?
I looked back, ready to rumble, but it was Zoe this time. She'd pounced on the tail like it was a toy and was just about to sink her teeth into it. I lunged forward, shoving her off before she could puncture my 300-point investment.
"Roar!!"
Zoe rolled onto her back, huffing at me. She looked offended, like I'd just stolen a prize from her. What? It wasn't a snake? I gave her the same ferocious snarl I gave Zack. She eventually lost interest and wandered off. Between the two of them, I was starting to realize that having a long tail in a family of short-tailed cats was a major liability. I couldn't even leave it resting on the floor without someone trying to eat it.
Luckily, Mom and Dad didn't seem to care. They were too busy worrying about where the next meal was coming from. They gave the tail a curious sniff once and then moved on.
The tapir didn't last long, and the mountain lion carcass I brought back later was gone in a single sitting.
"A family of gluttons... this winter is going to be brutal," I thought.
Adult Sabertooths are basically organic vacuum cleaners. Mom and Dad could put away 40 kilos of meat in one go and then sleep for days. Usually, they'd prefer to eat smaller meals more often, but when the pantry is empty, they gorge themselves whenever they find food and then shut down to save energy.
Even the three of us cubs were starting to eat half as much as the adults.
I kept trying the snow-pit ambush, but as the days crawled by, the woods went silent. No deer, no tapirs, nothing.
We have to move, I realized. If we stay here, we're going to starve.
It was a cold reality I'd never faced in my human life. Mom and Dad had clearly seen this coming before. They were at a crossroads: stay and defend a territory that had no food, or head south, follow the herds, and fight for a new home.
One morning, the north wind was screaming. Dark, leaden clouds were piling up, promising a massive blizzard.
"Roar—"
"Roar—"
Mom and Dad woke us up early. They didn't even go out to hunt; they just nudged us toward the entrance. They'd made the call. We were leaving.
But we weren't the only ones. All over the Rockies, the predators were on the move. The unwritten rules about territories were being thrown out the window. When you're starving, a border is just a line in the snow.
On a rocky plateau overlooking the Great Plains, a massive American Lion stood alone.
He didn't have the black stripes of a tiger or the mane of an African lion, just a tawny, powerful frame that commanded respect. He stood on the edge of a cliff, his fur whipping in the gale.
He looked cold, arrogant, and completely solitary.
"Roar—"
He stared through the white haze toward the distant horizon. Far to the south, the world was still green. Thousands of herbivores were moving across those plains like a slow-moving river of meat.
The American Lion turned and began his descent. Behind him, the evening clouds turned a bruised purple, and the jagged peaks of the mountains faded into the darkening sky.
The migration has begun, and a massive American Lion is on the prowl.