Cooking the meat that I wrapped up in leaves to carry with me instead of eating it raw will trick my brain into a sense of achievement and less desperation.
I foraged for some berries and mushrooms when I found this spot, and I have everything sitting on the flat stone I picked up nearby and stuck in the hottest part of the ash.
If I can pretend Iâm doing well, able to eat well, with some relaxing cookout time, maybe I might sleep well later when the sun goes down, and maybe my dreams will give me just one night of respite.
At the same time, I try not to ponder this unearthly bellyache of longing.
I miss proper food: cooked dinners, hot drinks, and snacks. I miss milky cocoa, walking barefoot on the carpet, and having a flashlight to illuminate the shadowy corners.
I miss having a soft bed and a safe room to close off at night and not worrying about always having one eye open.
I miss the noise of the others in other rooms and down hallways. I miss Meadow and the sub-pack, and I dare I say it⦠I miss him too.
If Iâm honest, I miss him more than everything else combined, and then some. Even if I hate him for all of this and will never forgive him for marking Carmen, I can still admit my need hasnât wavered.
I canât even think about it without bringing back the agony which shadows my every move and pushing it back down in the depths to shut it off.
The fat seeps out of the meat as the stone heats up, and it sizzles, giving off an aroma that reminds me of the mess hall, not that rabbit was a typical smell.
I have to swallow back that instant choking regret I get often. Iâve identified it as homesickness, even if the pack house was never really that for me.
I guess itâs just a general longing for the mountain and the ties to my long-forgotten family. The farm still sits empty. Although I always knew it was there, waiting, I never dared to go and see it.
Iâve never been good at facing my pain. Walking away and closing it off always served a better purpose.
Jasper used to tell me you had to face your problems head-on to be free of them, but then, he never lived to prove that was true.
I miss my brother most of all, even more than my mom at times, even if he used to tease me, call me names, and pull my braids.
He was a few years older than me and never let me forget it. My first real male protector in life never let me downâuntil he left me.
I wrap my arms around my legs and lean forward, self-comforting, trying to enjoy the heat of the flames warming my face to shut off my mind and its straying, unwanted thoughts.
Another loud crack in the shadows behind me has me bolt upright, and I spin around to see where itâs coming from.
My eyes narrow, and my wolf vision successfully flicks to adjust and surprises me with the clarity of seeing in the dark.
I wonder if the deer is coming back again and peering into the depths, I hope to see it happily trotting back out.
I gasp as a thundering, giant, black bear comes crashing through the nearby tree line suddenly, entirely unexpectedly downwind from me, so no scent warning, almost soundlessly until that last moment.
âShit!â
It must smell me or what Iâm cooking and probably followed either scent to investigate.
It doesnât look inquisitive; it seems mad as hell, with raging eyes and bared teeth, and I can tell by how it rears on its back legs and wails at me that itâs probably my scent ticking it off, and itâs not here to say hello.
Bears donât like my kind; itâs a well-known and documented fact. They deem us a threat, and we never wander into bear territory alone.
Those monsters are strong, relentless, huge, and weirdly capable of taking one of us on, as long as itâs a more petite femme like me, with little to no combat skills.
I get up and start backing away fast, knowing that this is some nasty shit to be in right now, my eyes darting around for a weapon or escape route.
It wades toward me through the underbrush, kicking rocks aside with its massive clumpy paws.
I swallow hard, gather my wits about me, and start pulling off my clothes slowly, keeping my eyes trained because I donât want to lose the very few items I have to wear.
I only have two outfits, and they are already worn and ragged from constant use, so I canât afford to lose a single item by shredding it to scraps from turning when dressed.
I know I can outrun this demon with its head on killing, but I canât grab all my stuff and food and run if I do. I have no time, and itâs nearer to my possessions than I am.
I canât leave it all behind me as this asshole will chew it all to shit. Itâs mine, and I need what little belongings I have.
Itâs all I have, and as it tramples over my backpack, a little gray of Coltonâs T-shirt peeking out, something inside me refuses to take this crap from some overgrown, mangy, flea-bitten teddy.
Itâs all I have left of ~him~, and Iâll be damned if Iâm leaving it behind.
It comes crashing at me, pulling my full attention back to its enormous face, eyes raging, yellow teeth baring in all their massive, pointy, terrifying glory, and I know thereâs no way out of this.
Itâs easily four times the size of me, three times as wide, as black as the sky on a moonless night, and completely deranged.
I yank the pant legs off, discarding them with my other castoffs, leaving me in my underwear as I run out of time.
It lurches at me, and I instinctively turn to counteract the attack, shredding the only good lingerie I ever owned in my life: black lace Meadow gave me, and it pisses me off on another level.
It happens so fast, like something inside me snaps and takes over.
I move in a flash, somehow ending up wrapped around the upper front of that smelly, panting beast, rolling across the basin floor and crashing into fallen logs and rocks.
Its claws and paws bash down on me, except it doesnât feel like anything much because of my surge of adrenaline.
I latch onto its neck with my teeth, biting hard until I taste salty, metallic blood running into the back of my throat, digging my claws in where I can get them.
My mind is on one thing only: to maim and hold my own until I come out on the other side of this, no matter how long it takes.
Iâm strangely focused, entirely in control, and yet fighting back with a fierce I never knew I had in me.
It hollers and dislodges me with a well-placed swipe across my head and side with its massive paw, claws digging into my skin and ripping as blood sprays across the landscape, sending me rolling across the debris.
The pain is like a distant dream and heals almost instantly, soothing into nothing, like a mild, faraway throbbing while blood rushes through my head.
My pulse bashes inside my thundering thoughts, pushing me on.
Iâm quick to my feet, finding energy Iâve lacked for eleven days, and run straight back at it, flying hard into its mid-section, with front paws and claws extended fully.
Iâm ready to start ripping, almost psychotically, as I collide, determined to leave my mark on it more permanently than the way it just did to me.
Thereâs an inner fire in me that knows no bounds as fear dries up and fades away, and this need to fight for my own things, my safety, becomes all-consuming.
Nothing else passes through my train of thought, and all I can smell and taste is this sudden need for blood. Itâs like a hunger coming from deep within that tells me I wonât relent until I take it down.
It fills me with a complete disregard for anything else. I feel it surge through me like a force I canât explainâa shot from an energy drink or being zapped with a power outlet that springs you across a room.
The bear counteracts my aggressive maneuver, and I gash its front ruthlessly with one paw, ripping flesh once more and almost blinding myself with a face full of splatter.
It body slams me with the other paw, crunching my bones, and sends me flying through the air like a limp rag. That winds me and renders me temporarily dazed.
Iâm still not anywhere near its size, which is its biggest advantage in this, but I wonât let it beat me.
I have speed, strength, and the ability to heal, as long as it doesnât kill me with an instant puncture to my heart or brain or rip my goddamn head off.
As long as I have a few seconds of not imminent death, my body will bounce back quickly.
Although each time is throbbing more than the last, I guess my initial adrenaline surge is waning as bones readjust and crackle under my skin to be reformed.
It hurts like a bitch, and this time I emit a howl and yelp as it does so.
My anger grows with this fresh pain, disabled only momentarily as I scramble to right myself, finding my balance and quick reflexes.
An inner rage builds up so intensely that I can taste it, becoming almost like a solid mass that I can feel and touch around me.
The bear lunges at me again, and this time Iâm swift, see it coming, and sidestep it.
I jump out of reach and pounce from the ground to an overhanging rock that levers me up enough to jump right onto the bearâs head and side.
I leap high and get it at an angle, right at the side of its face, clinging on devilishly by puncturing its shoulder and neck with gripping talons.
I sink my teeth into the top of its skull, trying to crush it with sheer willpower.
Too late, I realize my jaw canât stretch that far, and without a good amount in my teeth, I just rip off a clump of the scalp and dirty, foul-tasting fur, making me gag.
The bear, as furious as I am and yowling in agony at removing a sizable chunk of its skin, reaches up and catches my hind leg with its claws.
It digs in brutally and throws me clean across the forest floor. My body hits a fallen log side-on with the force and velocity of a cannonball.
Ribs are cracking under the assault of collision, spiking, stabbing into my lung, crushing, crunching, and holy hell balls.
I gasp out with a moment of agony that renders me unable to make an actual sound.
Air leaks out and fails me because it hurts worse than turning for the first time, stunned with the brutality, and Iâm going to rip that motherfuckerâs goddamn throat out.