Just as she had barely walked out, she suddenly heard a faint whimper by her ear.
It sounded just like a cub.
Luna instantly froze, her gaze shifting toward the direction the sound came from.
She saw, not far away in the shrubbery, a golden cub, half its head poking out, blocked by dense bushes.
Its fur was soaked, plastered tightly against its little body, a tiny bundle resembling a newborn.
"Huh, why is there a newborn tiger out here?"
She walked over, gently parted the thick branches, and revealed the cub's full body.
The little creature's eyes were tightly shut, its golden fur clinging wetly to its frame.
Bits of grass and leaves hung from its fur, its limbs and back scratched open by something—though the wounds weren't deep, they were shocking to look at.
The whole thing was filthy, looking like it had rolled in mud, pitiful to the extreme.
She squatted down, reached out, and lightly poked its head. The cub let out a weak whimper—half protest, half plea for help.
