Shira hadn’t moved in two days. The once-restless tigress, who used to pace the length of her enclosure with the quiet authority of a queen, now lay pressed against the far wall, her orange coat dulled by dust and rain. Food sat untouched near the rock, already gathering flies. Each passing hour, the air around her enclosure felt heavier.
Lily stood by the glass, her reflection faint against the downpour. She’d been there since morning, refusing to leave even when her father urged her toward shelter. “She’s not just tired,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She’s hungry… but she won’t eat.” Behind her, the chatter of other visitors rose and fell, none of them understanding why the sight made her chest ache.
As dusk crept in, the zoo lights flickered on, pale and artificial against the growing dark. Shira still hadn’t moved. Her ribs lifted and fell with each shallow breath, her eyes fixed on nothing. For the first time since Lily had met her, the mighty tigress looked small, and Lily, clutching the railing with cold hands, feared that if she looked away, Shira might never rise again.