After spending what might have been an hour crying out for all of the forest to hear, I looked down at my supplies sprawled around the forest floors. Sighing, I begin to gather them with a small rope for snares, an empty waterskin, a knife if I ever figure out how to use it with my claws or manage to return to my fire bearer form, and hide with written lessons on how to communicate with my other thirds, but the most important thing is the pemmican. Once i open the pouch holding all the pemmican now back to a powder from the force of slamming onto the ground once opening the pouch the constrained scent of the pemmican is released fully to my new more powerful nose reminding me that I haven't eaten yet today with a powerful roar coming from my stomach.
The bear and elk have calmed down enough from their release and the sadness that rippled through the entirety of my being. Now they agree that food is needed. The bear releases a low growl to eat the pemmican all of it then to move onto the plants around me. The elk grunts focus on the plants. There are plenty to fill me up for today. Meat is not necessary yet. I agree
With the elk the pemmican will for when I can’t find food.
Turning my attention to the closest thing that my instincts and smell is telling me that’s edible. A patch of black horn flowers that I know the roots are edible, a lesson taught to the tribes young how to forage what’s around the mountains and the surrounding forests. I lumber over movements impaired by hunger and the answer and need of three instincts. Bending down to try and dig up the roots I find the movements awkward and unnecessary. The bear huffs to just sit and gorge on the food around. I listen to the bear and begin eating not just the roots but the entire flowers. The petals taste plain, the stems not more than slightly bitter almost like a build up to the roots. The more I eat the more I find my hands insufficient to fill my needy belly so my face soon finds the flowers and the floor hands relegated to digging the roots out. The fire bearer sends out complaints about eating on the floor but the elk and bear do not care so I continue to eat. Soon the patches of flowers are no more but still the hunger is there so I turn my attention to the trees.
Whether it be a leaf or needle I consume it the partially filled stomach just intensifying the need for food. The bear suggests tearing into the break of the trees to find bugs and grubs to eat. I follow it. Tearing through bark lapping up the ants, beetles and any other bug that I can find. Eventually the stomach settles, satisfied by all that I have eaten, leaving the small clearing barren with trees destroyed on the sides facing towards me and the ground devoid of the color once there. Despite the devastation that I left in my hunger I felt satisfied in more ways than one. It felt freeing to eat like that to have all parts of myself agreeing on everything. Eventually no one could disagree that I needed food and that anyway was good as long as it didn’t hurt my stomach and none of it did.
I continue on farther into the forest away from my home. I walk with newly steadied steps, my two rampages and my cries of sadness likely scaring away any large animal with my ears and nose telling me more information than ever before I confirm my isolation. That thought brings a bitter taste from the back of my throat and a pain to the heart but I continue. I wonder what’s going on in the camp. Have they moved yet I know that it was put off because of my awakening or are they still waiting? How long did my parents stay watching where I entered the forest? I get broken out of my thoughts as I arrive at a small spring. Once again I sit down, near the water source pulling off my pack and fish out my waterskin. Filling it up while keeping an eye on my surroundings.
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Nothing but birds but instinct and experience tells me that water is a gathering point and to be cautious. Once my waterskin is filled I get up keeping my senses trained on my surroundings. It’s hard to tell what time it is through the trees but soon I would need to find a place to bed down soon but where. The bear speaks of tall grasses and open areas and shade for the night, the elk agrees, so I set out for a large clearing. Not sure what direction I should go, my way back to the clearing ruined by my feeding lost because of my musing and the twists and turns of the forest. So I just head forward with no reason not to with no place to return to and everything on my back.
As the sun gets lower the underbrush gets darker and darker but my new eyes keep me able to continue on my journey. One thing that is slightly troubling is the smell of a bear in the area, the bear is confident that it won’t be a problem. It's not mating season yet but the firebearer and elk aren't assured bears being predators naturally unnerve them. This causes constant stops to survey the area more thoroughly at every rustle of plants, snap of twigs and all unfamiliar scents. Soon it becomes too dark to continue in the chosen direction towards a possible clearing. So I decided to sweep clear a spot at the base of an old dead tree becoming white with age and death.
No part of me complains wandering in the dark is more dangerous than sleeping in a less ideal spot. Sitting down I slump releasing an unknown weight I was carrying through the day. It felt good to just stop but, I can't stay not doing anything. I take off my pack taking a drink from my waterskin pulling out the hide with the written instructions on how to communicate with my other thirds. Rolling out the hide in front of me using what little light the moon and stars provide and my improved vision to read it.
“To speak commune with your other half you must first clear your mind of all distractions of all thought of everything but your instincts that live below.” The first step was stated to be easier than the next steps and also weren’t helpful at all either. “Once you have cleared away everything but instinct let each part of your soul create their idealized forms, over time these forms will start taking the traits of the others eventually becoming the hybrid’s true form when all instincts become one.”
That is easier written than done but I have to try. I try to clear my mind of everything but I keep failing, too many new things over and over again, a falling branch, a change in wind bringing a new scent every little distraction brought by new thoughts born from three different instincts. After trying and failing long enough that even my improved vision can’t see the writing anymore I put the pelt away. Drifting off to sleep after my first day as an exile.
