Beneath the thick cover of the jungle, a tiger moves. Its paws touch the damp earth without a sound, as if every leaf and branch bends to let it pass. Its gait seems lazy, almost indifferent—but that is only an illusion. With each step, its eyes sweep between the trees, catching every motion, every scent. One might think it strolls, savoring time itself—yet it crosses vast distances without ever seeming to hurry. Its slowness is an art, a mastery of silence and patience. The sun sinks, the shado

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