Othello heard a rustling and turned to see the tiger pawing the ground between them. He wanted to confront her, ask her what she knew of this place that even the androids seemed unfamilliar with, but when he looked into her piercing eyes he suddenly remembered the dream he'd had the night before.

Before she could even make a move, he started towards her and tried to tackle her. He managed to get on her back and gripped her fur tightly as she tried to shake him off. Finally she took off, bucking and trying to loosen his grip. She veered to the side, jumping over underlying branches, no longer thinking about where they were going. He fur was getting sweaty, but Othello had a firm grip and was using his legs to keep himself steady. She raced across the hills, over the river, towards what seemed like a towering mountain.

He kept on thinking that he could tame this animal, but he was unprepared for the steam that began flowing from her nostrils. She was racing, claws digging into every possible foothold in a calculated, precise way. It was obvious she's been through this course before, he realized.