Salih’s hand trembled against his sword.
In his eyes flashed humiliation—but also wonder, hesitation, and anger.

He said:
“You… why did you do this? Why paint these dogs like tigers?”

Usuf smiled faintly. His eyes carried their familiar, sly curve as he answered:
“Because you see what frightens you. You believe what lies beyond your imagination.”

Salih froze.
Inside him began a struggle—pride, shame, unease. And among it all, a seed—a question.

In a low voice, he admitted:
“I was afraid.”

Usuf’s reply was soft, yet deep:
“I am afraid too, Salih. Every day. But I know—fear does not mean retreat. You will tremble, but you must not step back. That is the lesson. That is the colour of the tiger.”

Salih’s chest still heaved, but his eyes now glimmered with light.
With a faint smile he said:
“I didn’t understand a single word you just said.”

Usuf laughed.

The light slowly faded.
The garden grew quiet once more.
The sun now hung above, its glow mingling with the scent of soil and leaves, casting a soft golden shimmer. The air was gentle, as though each particle embraced the garden with tenderness, carrying an unseen joy. The dust of the path, the quiet crack of dry leaves, the calm wings of birds—all together wove the sound of nature’s hidden song.

Usuf stood a little further ahead, calm amidst the stillness. His body was steady, his face serene. His eyes shone like the first lamp of dawn—bright, unwavering. There was no smile upon his lips, no word, not even a sign. He seemed lost within himself, wandering through some unknown dream.

Salih stepped forward slowly. His feet touched the earth with a soft sound, and every particle of air seemed to shimmer with his presence. In the gentle shade, his eyes glowed—like the tender colours of dawn rising quietly in the sky. His voice carried wonder and curiosity, as though he longed to know what plan, what story, lay behind these dogs painted as tigers.

Usuf drew a long breath, and for a moment an unfamiliar softness flickered in his gaze. He stood in the silence, then slowly ran his hand over the painted stripes of the four “tiger-dogs.” The touch was like an ancient prayer, as if he wished to awaken a new life within them. With each movement of his hand, the air seemed to carry the mingled scent of soil, flowers, and morning dew, wrapping the garden in a fresh, enchanted calm.

Tall Salih stood with a new firmness in his face, like a storm gathering on the horizon. He stepped closer and asked:
“What will you do with these dogs that look like tigers?”

His voice was mixed with disbelief and curiosity, as if he sensed a hidden secret behind it all.

But Usuf remained still, wrapped in perfect silence. He looked at Salih once, then slowly traced the stripes again with his hand, as though trying to stir some secret pulse within the creatures. Yet his lips spoke no explanation.

Salih pressed again:
“Will you sell them? What fool would buy them?”

His eyes glittered with frustration and despair, burning with questions that found no easy answer.

Usuf said nothing. His silence was like a vast, quiet sky—hiding a thousand colours.

Then he rose to his feet and walked away with gentle steps, disappearing into the deeper part of the garden with the four painted dogs.

Salih stood motionless for a while. Then, slowly, a strange mixture of wonder and curiosity began to glow in his eyes, carrying with it a hidden throb of expectation—not fear, but the pull of an undiscovered mystery.

He did not understand what he felt, but he knew this much: whatever Usuf was about to do, it was beyond the reach of ordinary imagination. It was the beginning of a journey that would never be erased.

Salih began to walk, slowly but with firm resolve. Each step touched the earth as though speaking of his hopes. In the air drifted a new fragrance—the breath of a coming chapter. Dawn was rising, and he was becoming the song of that dawn.

The garden’s leaves swayed in the soft wind, kissed by gentle sunlight.
At the start of that wordless journey, fragrance lifted into the air.
Their footsteps carried out of the garden, into the streets of the city—towards someone’s unknown future.

A future waiting to be touched.
A future in which courage would write history.