Tiger by Jeff Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

joking. Everyone knew Ying's comments were made out of sadness and denial. Many of the monks even felt sorry for Ying because they were certain that if anyone was to blame for the death, it was Ying himself. So instead of punishing Ying for his comments, the senior monks had been satisfied when Ying announced he was leaving the temple forever to wander the surrounding forests. They knew how painfully alone he would be, and they agreed that perpetual loneliness was punishment enough for his actions.
    Fu originally disagreed and thought that Ying should receive at least forty whacks with a bamboo rod. However, now that he was running solo into the unknown himself, Fu was beginning to think perhaps the monks had been right. Perhaps loneliness hit harder than bamboo.
    Fu began to ache deep down. He realized that he had never really been alone before. He had always worked, practiced, studied, ate, and even slept with at least one of his four brothers around. He used to complain about never being alone, and Grandmaster had always told him that you should be careful about what you wish for. Fu began to think no truer wordshad ever been spoken. His brothers could be annoying, but at least he had always had someone to argue with.
    Fu did realize that he and his brothers occasionally got along. One thing they had in common was their negative feelings about their daily schedules. They all followed the rigid plans Grandmaster laid out for them hour by hour, and they were never given any free time. Fu had felt the strongest about wanting time alone, which is why he was surprised to discover that now that he seemed to have all the time in the world, he wasn't sure what he should do with it.
    Fu's mind continued to race further and further away from the task at hand—which was to run as fast as possible through the dark forest without getting injured—until a thick tree root reached up and grabbed his foot. He went down hard.
    Fu lay on a bed of dead leaves, catching his breath. He scolded himself for thinking too much and lifted his head as a salty drop of water fell from his right eye, sinking deep into the slice across his cheek. He successfully fought off the urge to cry out and squeezed both eyes shut, cutting off the flow of liquid. Then he stood. None of his bones seemed to be broken, and none of his joints felt twisted. He stuck his right foot into a small pool of moonlight and saw that the top was beginning to bruise. His foot hurt a lot, but not as much as his cheek, which hurt only half as much as the pain growing deep inside his heart.
    The wind picked up for a moment, and Fu noticed that the night seemed chillier. It must be the altitude.He had intentionally run toward the closest low-lying mountain, knowing that if he traveled high enough he should be able to find something that would help keep his bad situation from getting worse: bloodmoss.
    Like self-defense, herbal medicine was a matter of survival, so it was studied by all warrior monks. Fu ran his index finger across the slice in his cheek. Facial cuts always bled profusely, and his was exceptionally long and deep. If he lost too much blood, he would pass out, and who knew what might happen to him then? Bloodmoss would stop the bleeding. It didn't work for everyone—not even any of his brothers— but it worked wonders for him. It would be difficult to find in the dark, but he couldn't wait for the sun to rise. Fu noticed more moonlight striking the ground in the distance, which meant the canopy was beginning to thin. That was a good sign. He started walking.
    Soon Fu found what he was looking for—a clump of bloodmoss poking out from under a fallen log. Once he had a fistful, he located a smooth, palm-size rock to use as a pounding tool, and a large flat rock to serve as a makeshift tabletop. After brushing most of the dirt and bits of rotten log off the moss, Fu began to pound it to a pulp. He worked quickly, making as little noise as possible. Things weren't coming