Luna, the sleek black panther, lay on her favorite perch, a thick branch high above the ground. Her golden eyes flickered with annoyance as she watched the workers below. Every day, they marched into her sanctuary, carrying their tools, making noise, and disturbing her peaceful home. At first, she had tolerated them, assuming they would leave soon. But days turned into weeks, and still, they stayed.
The endless hammering, chattering, and rustling of machines had worn on her nerves. She was a queen of the jungle, silent and graceful, yet these intruders had no respect for the rhythm of the wild. They trampled over ancient roots, scared away the birds, and filled the air with the scent of metal and sweat.
Luna stretched her powerful limbs and let out a deep, rumbling sigh. She was tired—tired of the noise, tired of the destruction, tired of the workers who did not belong here. The jungle was supposed to be a place of harmony, not chaos. Every rustling leaf, every whisper of the wind had a purpose. But now, all she could hear was the mechanical hum of humans invading her world.
Her tail flicked with frustration. If they did not leave soon, she would have to remind them whose land this was. A silent hunter, she moved through the shadows, unseen but always watching. The workers might think they were in control, but Luna knew the truth. The jungle belonged to her, and she was done being patient.
