At the garden’s threshold Salih halted, standing tall behind his men.
His face shone with confidence, his eyes burned with fire.
There was no fear here, no cowardice, no tearful gaze.
These eyes held no flight, no retreat. They carried the look of one who had returned not to destroy, but to protect.

The air froze around him.
Birdsong ceased.
The paintbox lay drowned in shadow.
The four dogs sat still, sensing something uncanny in the air.
And Usuf? Usuf was struck silent, bewildered, unable to grasp what he saw.

Salih planted his feet behind his soldiers, spine straight, and thundered with a voice like storm:

“They were inside. Four tigers. I saw them with my own eyes. I had fled without looking back—but now I’ve returned. This time they will not escape.”

His voice did not pierce the heavens, yet every leaf in the garden heard it.
There was no foolish fancy in that sound—only the oath of a boy.
The triumph of one who had fallen to fear, and risen again in greatness.

The workers-turned-soldiers gazed upon him. All eyes were fixed to his face.
No one spoke.
No shoulders shrugged.
No laughter broke.
No one doubted.

For they knew—in that moment Salih was no longer merely the boy they had known. In that moment he was a symbol. An echo of a soul that had conquered fear. Salih stood like a warrior risen from legend, whose very fear was a weapon his enemies would dread.

The garden itself seemed to pause. The air stood with him.

And the dogs?
They sat with bowed heads, caught between shame and pride, as though they understood—
their painted tiger-skins had birthed a true transformation today.

Across the garden’s threshold Salih and his warriors advanced.
Every sense sharpened. Eyes swept the grass for shadows, the leaves for hidden breath, the air for the scent of threat.

Then suddenly—

One soldier cried out,
“Something’s moving there!”

His bow was raised, string taut beneath his fingers. The others froze.

Salih strode forward a pace, his face hard as stone.

The twilight of the garden seemed to halt—the golden glow melted into grey shadows.
The scent of soil and the snap of dry leaves filled the air.
The birds remained silent. The leaves quivered in soundless dread.
Within that fragile silence lurked tension, despair, and questions unspoken—each like a knife burning in the heart.

And all of them saw.

Usuf stood there—his shoulders straight, firm. Yet his eyes no longer held the colours of that day. He lifted them towards his watchers with a quiet gaze, as if searching some far horizon, some memory of past or prophecy of future. Shadows lay across his face.

Salih and those around him stared in astonishment, disbelief mingling with awe.
Their expressions spoke one thought:
What is this boy—this boy—doing beside tigers?

Within them suspicion burned, an ember that refused to die.

And the four dogs—
paint, stripes, and paw-patterns drawn into perfect rhythm—
their bodies now seemed truly tigerlike. They sat in silence, calm, as if aware that their forms possessed the power to deceive.
In their eyes shone a light—not wildness, but a quiet radiance, a symbol of strength and pride.

Then suddenly—from behind—a voice rang out.
Straight, stern, and touched with a drop of fear:

“Do the tigers suffer from malnutrition? Why do they look like this?”

The words drifted into the air, dissolving into the silence, yet freezing everyone in place, eyes filled with strange astonishment, hearts burning with unspoken questions.

Slowly, Usuf turned his gaze upon them all. His throat trembled, though no words came at first—only a long breath. Then he raised his hand, and in his eyes there gleamed a sharpness that took the air itself hostage.

The four dogs still sat quietly, their gaze steady, unafraid. They knew well—they sat upon a warrior’s canvas, the finest creation of a living illusion.

Usuf lifted his hand, showing them all.
His voice was low, but so charged with intensity that even the wind seemed to halt to listen:

“Your tigers? They are dogs.”

There was no roar in his tone, no harshness. Only a hollow calm—like the peace found after a thousand battles, in the depths of darkness.

For a moment, stillness.
All around, they stood with eyes wide, astonished. Their faces bore a rare mixture—suspicion, wonder, disbelief. And somewhere beneath, solitude, mystery, and unspoken hope.

The workers slowly exhaled, lowering their weapons. In some eyes glimmered laughter, in others admiration, and in most—a stunned wonder. For though they saw dogs… beneath the painted stripes they could still feel the tigers.

In a voice that shook slightly, Usuf said:
“The world does not always appear as we expect it. Failing to see that difference—that is our weakness.”

The moment his words ended, a subtle shiver passed through the air. For one heartbeat all their hearts stopped—then awoke together, each carrying a different emotion, hard to name in words. Suddenly the garden seemed bathed in a strange light of life—
a light where despair and hope, fear and courage, all lived together at once.

Usuf dismissed them with a calm gesture.