Note: Some of you mentioned being startled by Shere Khan's strong accent – worry not. It's all part of my devious plan. Note 2: I don't know if they're going to make a sequel to the 2016 Jungle Book, but since that's a long ways off if they do, I'm simply working with what was provided and extra material from the books. If any future sequel(s) use the books differently and make this more non-canon than it already is… oopsy.

[Edited 10/18/16]

And away we go…

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Shere Khan stood at the crossing between the jungle and the Man Village. The man-cub sat on his back, gripping his fur with tiny paws like a monkey's. They watched the hot glow of the Red Flower rise up from the village, writhing and smoking as it went, not seeming nearly as friendly or as welcoming as the small bloom Shere Khan had slept by the previous night. There were noises and smells unfamiliar to him, punctuated by wispy shadows of alien shapes.

"I can't say I know this is where you're from, but it's the nearest Man-place I know," said the tiger, watching the village with a sense of trepidation. He did not want to be near it. He did not want to be near it at all. In fact, this was as close as he ever wanted to get. He couldn't imagine a reason grave enough to draw nearer.

The pup did not answer him, preferring instead to hug his tiny arms around the thick ruff of fur on Shere Khan's broad neck. The tiger shook his head as if to ward off a fly, but the man-cub wasn't bothered at all. In fact, he only held tighter.

Sighing heavily, Shere Khan stretched himself out onto the ground and leaned to one side, prompting the man-cub to ungracefully making an unwilling dismount. The boy made a startled, unhappy gurgle at suddenly being unseated, displeased with being on the hard ground for the first time in many miles. Shere Khan didn't like the sound, but he paid no mind, quickly heaving himself back onto all fours so that the cub couldn't climb onto his back again.

The man-cub whined, tugging a handful of orange fur to get the tiger's attention.

"Eh, now, none of that," Shere Khan said, leaning down and giving the man-cub a nudge in the direction of the Man-place. "Go on, go on; go back t'your pack or wha'ever it is you Men 'ave."

The boy stumbled on his undeveloped legs, but immediately gravitated back towards the tiger as soon as he regained his balance. Shere Khan huffed and gave the man-cub a firmer push. Again, the man-cub stumbled and then quickly recovered once more, returning to where he was not wanted.

"I said no!" Shere Khan exclaimed, showing his teeth. "Go on, get! You're gonna gemme caught!"

With that and a very stern glare, Shere Khan pressed the whole of his head against the boy's chest and gave a very determined shove. The man-cub staggered backwards and fell onto his rump. There was a moment of shock from the boy, of wide-eyed disbelief, before that tiny face crinkled into a miserable grimace and an even more miserable sound poured from his mouth.

Shere Khan cringed.

Many animals do not cry. Or, at least, they do not cry tears, not as Men do. But there is a sound that many creatures make, and though that sound is not the same in all creatures, it is crying, and it is recognizable, even if you have never heard it before. Shere Khan had certainly never seen or heard a Man cry, but tigers are one of those animals that do cry, and he recognized it in the man-cub.

With his ears flat against his head and hackles standing up from his neck all the way down his back, Shere Khan set one broad paw on the man-cub's head, trying to keep his claws from extending and accidently hurting the boy.

"Hey," Shere Khan muttered harshly, recoiling from the cub's pathetic cries even as he attempted to sooth the child. "Hush! Stop that. Enough."

The cries rose in volume to a keening noise that wavered and was only broken by the harsh, hiccupping intakes of breath. Had they been in the jungle, it would have roused every animal for a good mile or so and brought more than a few running to investigate. But they weren't in the jungle. They were… oh, no, they were right on the edge of the Man Village.

Oh, Shere Khan thought. The cries of a man-cub would bring animals running, yes, but what about the men? Would they hear him? Would they be drawn to the sound of one of their own in distress? Of course they will.

"They'll come for you," Shere Khan told the cub, giving the tiny creature another half-hearted pat. "Just… stay."

The glow of the Red Flower flared and flickered with shadows, drawing Shere Khan's eyes back to the Man Village. There was movement and noise, the unnatural sound of Man voices, and more than usual. They had heard the cub.

Good, Shere Khan thought curtly, giving himself one brusque nod of affirmation before quickly backing away from the cub. The weak cries immediately rose into screams that would have rivaled any bird that Shere Khan had ever heard. Shere Khan moved faster and the screams doubled in volume and distress. Oh, good word, nothing that's not dying ought to be able to scream like that.

Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with tigers, know this – they aren't known for their paternal instincts. Male tigers are generally uninvolved with the lives of their cubs, and even the lives of their mates. But that jungle was strange and unnatural and full of equally strange and unnatural animals. Shere Khan was no exception, and he felt the fatherly urges that tigers are rarely beset by. Were the opportunity offered, he would have a mate and cubs of his own, but there were no such opportunities. But there was a lost man-cub, and the poor pup didn't really seem all that different from a tiger cub. So, when an unusually sentimental animal heard the frightened screams of the man-cub…

Shere Khan stopped in his tracks even as he had been poised to run. His muscles tensed in position, waiting for the send-off that would catapult him through the jungle, but it never came. Shere Khan dragged a paw over his face, growling angrily at his own weakness.

"I'm gonna regret this, I swear it," Shere Khan grumbled, turning back towards the man-cub.

The cub was already running after Shere Khan on his weak, stubby legs, tears streaming down his face and down onto his bare chest. Shere Khan made it to the man-cub in two great bounds.

"Nathoo!" cried a voice from the Man Village. Not an animal's voice. "Nathoo!"

"Up!" Shere Khan ordered as he kneeled, nudging the man-cub onto his back. The cries were subsiding into hiccups, which did only good things for Shere Khan's ears, but there was no time to be grateful. The gates that guarded the Man Village were opening, and the light of the Red Flower spilled out hotly; angrily, as if it knew what Shere Khan was doing. Stealing. "Hold on!"

Shere Khan ran and did not stop running until the sun came up.

But that, dear reader, all happened a very long time ago.

oooOOOooo

Bagheera didn't worry without reason, but when there was a reason, he worried very much. And the lasting dry season worried him endlessly. It wasn't the dry season itself that worried him, of course. The dry season came without fail, every year, and it was always a nuisance, but this year was especially bad. Worth worrying about, certainly. The wolf pack had a litter of young pups, barely walking, who would not survive with so little water if the heat grew any more intense. Two were already sun-sick.

So, when Peace Rock was revealed and the Water Truce was called, Bagheera was relieved, but it also only served to prove to him how bad things had gotten. Water Truce hadn't been called since he was just a cub, and that dry season hadn't been as bad as this one.

Still. It was good for the jungle's inhabitants to gather, even if it was for such an unpleasant reason. They made a pleasantness out of it. There would always be tension between predator and prey, but the Peace Rock always brought about a sense of camaraderie, even between natural enemies. It was something that Bagheera enjoyed immensely. The only thing missing, he thought, was… well, oddly enough, Shere Khan.

Bagheera may have only been a cub when the last Water Truce was called, but the same could be said for Shere Khan. They had played together. It didn't seem right for the tiger to be missing from their number now.

Where have you gone all this time, Shere Khan?

With that thought, Bagheera finally approached the watering hole to take his own share. He startled a few deer (foolish creatures), and had to tell off a peacock for making a fuss over something trivial (a stick, was it?), but other than that, there was no trouble. He drank, he cooled his paws in the mud, and he did his best to ignore the cacophony of noise and squabbling that was the growing at Peace Rock as more animals flooded in.

Unfortunately, he didn't get to ignore it for long.

Raksha's pups, talking and walking but still very small, never ceased playing, even in the heavy heat. They romped through the mud, investigating new creatures they had never seen before and splashing each other to help cool off. They recognized Bagheera as a friend of the pack and approached without fear. They nipped happily at his heels, yipping and mock-fighting amongst his legs. Bagheera chuckled and gently batted at an especially brave one. The pup growled back at him with white baby teeth showing and amber eyes sparking.

"Bagheera!" the pup laughed, dodging the panther's light hits.

"Remember me, do you?" rumbled Bagheera, lowering his head closer to the pup. He was grey in color, not much darker than his mother, but darker by enough that it helped Rama's features shine through.

The pup, instead of answering, attacked Bagheera's ear. The needle-sharp puppy-teeth were barely even a pinch to the big cat – Bagheera didn't care. He felt the feeble tugs of mock fighting as the other pups joined in the game, playing ambush on his tail and ears. He let them do it, even going as far as to lie down so that they could reach him. One pup climbed over his back, struggling to find purchase in Bagheera's black pelt, and this led all of the other pups to try it for themselves. Of course.

Bagheera shut his eyes and let them play as they pleased. Treating pups kindly was always wise – they remembered it when they grew into strong hunters. Besides, the heat was making him drowsy, and since it was safe at Peace Rock… way not take advantage? Advantage being an afternoon nap, that is.

"Pups, why must you bother Good Bagheera? He's getting old, you know."

Bagheera lazily opened one eye to find a sleek, black wolf staring down at the pups with false disapproval. The sire of these particular pups, Bagheera knew. They may have been brown, for the most part, but they were obviously Raksha's, and this was Rama. Raksha's mate.

"Speak for yourself, Rama," Bagheera murmured. He was still hoping for that nap. "I haven't a grey hair on me, see? You, though, seem to be a bit silver about the muzzle."

Rama huffed at the offense, sitting next to the pup-covered black panther.

There was a companionable silence between them even as other animals talked without ceasing and the pups yelped and snarled at each other as they played their new game of who-can-walk-on-Bagheera's-back-for-the-longest-without-falling-off. The things that pups did to amuse themselves made Bagheera smile. His memories of being a cub were hazy and fading with age. He remembered his mother. He remembered his first Water Truce, where he had met and made tentative friends with a rambunctious Shere Khan. He remembered the flash flood that had made him an orphan. He remembered teaching himself to hunt. He remembered… more than he thought he remembered, apparently. Hm. How odd. He hadn't thought of it in such a long time.

"What's the matter, Bagheera?" Rama asked, nudging Bagheera's shoulder.

"Nothing," Bagheera answered. Suddenly, the brave runt of the litter slid down the slope of Bagheera's neck and fell off the panther's face. Bagheera blinked, and the startled pup blinked back.

"S-sorry," the pup said, and immediately scampered around towards Bagheera's elbow so that he could rejoin his litter-mates.

"The runt looks like you," Bagheera informed his friend jovially.

Rama snorted, not looking nearly so pleased as Bagheera did. "Pup's fool-headed."

"All pups are."

The wolf didn't respond. Bagheera stilled, breaths becoming shallow as he became aware that the dull roar of Peace Rock's gathering had fallen into a faint murmur. The pups played obliviously on his back, but Bagheera watched Rama, who had stood up and lifted his head to the sky, scenting the air, just as many of the other animals were doing. Bagheera looked up. The sun was shining, the heat was heavy, and nothing seemed to have changed, but the chirps of birds and buzzing of bugs peeled away into silence.

"What is it, Rama?" Bagheera asked softly. He anxiously kneaded his claws into the mud.

Rama shivered, muscles visibly shuddering under his pitch-black coat.

"Rain's coming."

oooOOOooo

A deer shrieked right before its back was broken, quick and clean. Had it been healthy, it would not have been so easy to catch, but any predator could detect the sickness that radiated from the deer's bones. Animals only called it sickness. You, reader, would rightly call it cancer.

Shere Khan clamped his mouth around the buck's neck and hauled, dragging the deer back through the foliage. The deer hadn't given much of a chase, which would usually have disappointed the tiger, but not this time. The oppressive heat made hunting more of a chore and less of a chase. Less enjoyable by half, and it took pleasure away from eating a fresh kill.

Tail lashing irritably in wake of the heat, Shere Khan paused to rest. His whole massive body slumped down onto a bed of moss that was browning in the heat. He had grown much bigger and stronger in the recent years. He was one of the only predators in his territory and the pickings were easy, meaning he rarely worked hard for a meal, and he certainly never went hungry. A surplus of food and a lack of effort put into catching it did a very big tiger make.

The land of the Seeonee was considered to be the southernmost part of the jungle, but even farther south was a stretch of jungle so dense and so unforgiving that it had gone unnamed and unclaimed for as long as anybody could remember. It was there, in that southern stretch, where things had gotten the worst. There hadn't been much there in the first place, of course. It was a dark, dangerous place, uninviting and without any attracting factors. That, Shere Khan supposed, was why it had been so easy for him to move in and take advantage of the hunting grounds being unchecked and unchallenged. It was just him and the crocodiles competing for the lost creatures that wandered to far south, and the crocodiles were no competition. In fact, Shere Khan had even once eaten a crocodile. Thankfully, crocodiles are not loyal creatures, and they did not care that he had eaten one of their own.

It wasn't something he would be doing again if he could help it, though. He hadn't enjoyed the taste.

The heat of the dry season was tangibly thick, like a puff of hot breath bearing down on the jungle. It was at its worst in the south, where the rivers were turning to slurping mud, and the jungle's thick canopy was dried and receding, leaving the usually dark jungle to the mercy of an unrelenting sun. There hadn't been such a ruthless heat in years. Some of the crocodiles remembered a dry season like this, although Shere Khan wasn't old enough to say the same. It was worst, though, for the man-cub.

Shere Khan grunted, remembering why he had traveled so far just to catch a deer with failing health. He needed to get it back to Mowgli. His cub.

The intolerable heat had driven off most of the prey, which was an abundance of small game that found the dense stretch of southern jungle tolerable. There had been so many animals that Shere Khan hadn't even had to try to catch enough for himself and for Mowgli. But the heat peeled back the protective canopy and crisped the underbrush down to nothing, leaving no shelter for the animals, who all left. The crocodiles and the birds remained, but little else.

And that was why Shere Khan needed to bring this deer back. Mowgli was still waiting, back in their cave, probably wondering if he could manage to kill a small, youthful crocodile for food (he could, Shere Khan didn't doubt).

Shere Khan heaved back onto all fours, dragging his kill along with him, and continued on his journey home. Not so far yet, Shere Khan thought. It would be faster going back, at least. He didn't like being away from Mowgli for too long. The man-cub was tough, Shere Khan had made sure of that, but he was still just a cub.

Distantly, from beyond the jungle's borders, a rumble rolled through the air like the growl of a tiger. Shere Khan dropped the deer and looked to the open sky, nostrils flaring. He opened his mouth.

Beyond the copper of deer's blood, Shere Khan could taste a storm.

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Originally, this whole story was just going to be a one-shot, but since it got such wonderful feedback, I thought I'd continue it. Thanks, everybody.