I felt anger, and rage, and instead of fear, I wanted to exert my dominance. I instinctively protected myself with something I conjured up, and I haven’t come in contact with anything like this that I can ever recall. Not recent enough to absorb anyway, and I know it wouldn’t have stayed with me. Absorption doesn’t last, like it hasn’t with Colton’s gifts.
I look down at my hands once more, weighing it up in my mind and realize that it’s exactly how I did it. Raging with Colton, like I was with the bear, so it must be the source to harnessing it. I need to learn to use my rage to control my gift. Not that it will be hard to find a reason to be mad, I just need to remember the pain of four days after leaving, and bingo, I could fuel rage for an eternity while cursing his ‘puta skanky ass’ name.
If I leave the self-pity aside and remind myself that on the full moon a few days after that, I felt no new agony… so no new betrayal, then I know the answer. He must have marked her before the turning ceremony, once he was sure I was long gone. Out of sight, out of mind. He didn’t even wait.
I sat up that whole night waiting and watching the moon and felt nothing. Slimy dog.
It ignites rage all right, but I don’t know what to do with it. I stare at my limp hands, slowly turning back to human, failing to conjure the milky mist and give up. I guess without something to direct the rage, or have something threatening me in some way, then I have no idea how to conjure it up properly. Maybe if Colton was standing in front of me ….
My head falls back as I sigh up at the sky and exhale heavily. Nakedly standing in the wood, and brain jumps back to reality. I have an opportunity presenting itself if I put gifts and rage aside. I just killed a bear, a big one, and his fur shouldn’t be wasted when I’m trying to make rural survival more bearable. I was aching for some home comforts, and a soft bed… that fat chunky ass has a perfectly thick piece of warmth going to waste now. I need to remember what my father told me about off grid survival. that it’s essential to utilize everything you can at any given opportunity.
I turn my attention back to the beast, a sliver of guilt finally cutting into my heart a tad painfully, reminding me I am in fact human, as I watch its now still, pathetic, pose and try not to fall back into weak girl with too much empathy. I’ve had to do this a lot these past days when hunting my own food and I need to accept that life can be cruel, and in nature, it’s eat or be eaten. I ignore the growing knot in my heart and chest, push away the thoughts, and find that inner grit.
I pull out my pocketknife from my backpack and flip out the knife section, gleaming in the sun hitting the clearing and shining back at me. I’ve been using this to skin rabbits and such for days, but its small and not the sharpest, even though I have tried to use flint rocks to keep it so. It will take a month to skin that damn bear.
I extend my hand, stretch it out, and turn it alone to my wolf paw. Lycanthrope can use their paws like hands, or feet, and I extend my claws fully, measuring up mentally the size and sharpness, knowing really, I have the only tools I need right here. I don’t bother dressing, as I’m filthy after that little battle and about to be more so. Dried blood from my own now healed body, and the bears wounds, covers my skin in disgusting patterns and smear marks. I probably look as feral as this makes me feel. I’ll need to bathe before dressing, and this is going to get messy.
I cover the ground between us and close the gap with the bear, extending my claws fully, with my mind set on a stomach-churning task. Leaning in to salvage what fur I can and maybe a trophy claw, as a reminder that I just earned my first warrior stripe. I push down the urge to vomit, suck up the sudden surge of emotion that makes me feel slightly vulnerable, as I stand over my kill and survey what I’m about to do. I don’t even know if bear meat tastes good, it might when cooked, and I guess I’m about to find out.
It’s the first day in the last eleven, that the sadness and hopelessness abates, and I feel like I might just learn how to get through this in one piece with a little more resolve than the last two weeks. I might learn how to grow, how to be strong if I give myself more time and some faith. If I can take on a bear, maybe, I can take on something paler, faster, deadlier, with a blood lust should I happen upon one.
I need to figure out how to unleash my potential, and for the first time, I wonder if Colton saw it before I did. That he could see through what everyone else did and caught a hint of a spark when he got closer to me. Maybe I am special.
Wolves can’t throw air.
Change of Direction
I lay on the make shift fur bed I made myself last night, resting on my stomach lazily with a good size of the pelt over the top of me, hands crossed under my chin as I watch the early morning birds peck at the scraps I left on my cooking stone. Dancing around and merrily, eating what little I left behind. The fire has long smoldered out and everything around me is dewy with early morning moisture. Everything still, and peaceful, in the morning glow of a newly rising sun, and oddly still. I made it through another night, and I’m still here, waking with a better mood with every day this pans out.
I didn’t find a cave or shelter last night, so curled up in the bear pelt, that took me a full four days to scrape and clean and dry out in the sun on the hottest rocks I could find. I’m no expert in tanning, or preserving pelts, but it works enough, even if it’s a bit stiff and smelly, and it’s worth lugging with me every day, despite the added bulk and weight. I sliced it into four manageable sizes for rolling and binding on my back, two for under me at night, spread out like a thin mattress with some comfort, one rolls up as a make shift pillow, be it a stiff one, and is currently off to one side, and the largest piece I flip fur down and lay over me as a weatherproof blanket, covering on top of the single blanket I carry with me. It keeps me dry anyway, because I don’t need the warmth, but I do like the coziness it provides me, even in caves. It gives me a sense of security, and not feeling as exposed when caught in a black surround made of slightly rough fur.
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