As I walk silently towards my prey, the elk, my footsteps move lightly against the earth, blending with the dark, somber mountain forest of Eastern Russia—my domain. Silent. I must be silent. If my prey hears even the faintest whisper of my steps, the hunt is over! The pale crescent moon shines like a silvery claw in the night sky. The blanket of stars stretches to infinity in the clear, eerie night, where darkness persists.

I hunt about once a week, and tonight is that night. I, a nocturnal, solitary and powerful hunter during the strange night, stalk towards my prey with stealth. I travel miles in search of my prey. My distinctive golden-orange coat, streaked with dark stripes, melts into the shadows, rendering me invisible. The cold, harsh temperature in Eastern Russia is currently as low as -46°C. The cold clings to the earth like an icy shroud, wrapping the forest in eerie silence. My thick fur, the layer of fat along my belly and flanks, the thick mane around my neck and the extra fur on my paws allow me to survive in the cold.

My stripes are distinct from other Amur Tigers and resemble unique human fingerprints. At nearly 600 pounds and stretching up to 9 feet long, I’m the most powerful tiger compared to different species of tigers. My body, built for power and endurance, allows me to consume up to 60 pounds of meat in a single night if hunger gnaws at me. But, famished, I’ll consume 75 pounds of food tonight. My bold, dark stripes blend seamlessly with the shadows, making it impossible for my prey to spot me.

A sudden instinct jolts through me like a spark of lightning—my territory. I have to mark it before another tiger dares trespass. I retreat into the dark forest, leaving my scent behind as I spray urine across my territory, signaling to my rivals that they should keep their distance. I thrust myself forward, eyes locking onto my unsuspecting prey, standing firm with my plan. I swiftly conceal in the bushes, my striped coat blending with my surroundings.

The bushes sway gently, cloaked in silver moonlight, anticipating my next move. As I crouch in the green thicket, my plan is clear as day in my mind. I’d wait for my prey to pass by and walk further down the dark, somber forest until it wanders down into a narrow, forlorn path. Then, in a flash, I’d pounce—pinning it down, my powerful jaws crushing its neck in an instant. 

The frigid, bitter climate of Eastern Russia wraps around me, but my thick fur shields me from the icy air, allowing me to remain focused on my hunt. I behold my prey meandering aimlessly down the melancholy forest. THAT’S PERFECT, I say to myself. It will be easier for me to pounce on my prey with just enough force to kill it immediately.

I observe as the elk saunters further down the forest into the narrow, forlorn path that stretches onward. Suddenly, it veers its head towards the thicket of trees. Its curious eyes pan around the forest doubtfully. Before it realizes that it is the victim of my hunt tonight, I crawl out of the bushes silently and dart towards it. TIME TO ATTACK!

The winter has arrived, a light blanket of snow covering the spruce trees. The light snow falling everywhere covering my fur and antlers. The cold icy tundra beneath my feet covering the land, the clickity clack of my hooves as I wander around for any outstanding shrubs. Warmth consumes me as I continue my daily grazing, eating whatever’s in sight.“Everyone gather for a head count”, Cupid exclaimed. Little steps sounded of thunder as we shuffle toward the centre. My eyes wander off to my fellow peers, sticking out like a sore thumb with their short brown fur and golden brown eyes, while my thick white fur makes me look like a patch of snow in the ground. The alarming grunts from the others steal my attention, and the munching calves snap their heads up. I scurry through the crowd trying to find out what all the hassle is. And thats when I see it. A mountain lion. Instinct kicks in and everyone hurries into a cyclone. Leaving the mountain lion puzzled, clueless as of what to do. The mountain lion then disappears out of view into the cool forest of the tundra, As grunts and cheers echo through the crowd. The cyclone then begins to die down as victory is ours and we survive another day.