The moment the latch clicked, a guttural snarl rolled from the bamboo thicket. Shira’s silhouette shifted in the shadows, muscles taut, eyes like burning gold in the dim light. “It’s alright, girl,” Margaret called softly. “You know my voice.” The growl deepened. Margaret kept her pace slow, her tone steady.
“You don’t scare me, sweetheart. Not after the way you used to steal chickens out of my arms.” Something in the tigress’s stance changed. The rumbling eased. A softer sound followed, not quite a purr, not quite a roar but a throaty chuff that made Lily’s face light up behind the glass. “She’s talking!” Lily whispered. “Like a big cat meow!”