I lie on the makeshift fur bed I made last night, resting on my stomach lazily with a good-sized pelt over the top of me.
My hands are crossed under my chin as I watch the early morning birds peck at the scraps I left on my cooking stone, dancing around merrily and eating what little I left behind.
The fire has long smoldered out, and everything around me is dewy with early morning moisture. Everything is peaceful in the morning glow of a newly rising sun and oddly still.
I made it through another night, and Iâm still here, waking in a better mood with every day that pans out.
I didnât find a cave or shelter last night, so I curled up in the bear pelt, which took me a full four days to scrape and clean and dry out in the sun on the hottest rocks I could find.
Iâm no expert in tanning or preserving pelts, but it works enough, even if it is stiff and smelly, and itâs worth lugging with me every day, despite the added bulk and weight.
I sliced it into four manageable sizes, one for rolling and binding on my back, two for under me at night, spread out like a thin mattress, and the last rolls up as a makeshift pillow, be it a stiff one.
The largest piece I flip fur-down and lay over me as a weatherproof blanket, covering the single blanket I carry with me.
It keeps me dry anyway because I donât need the warmth, but I do like its coziness, even in caves.
It gives me a sense of security, and I donât feel as exposed when caught in a black surround made of slightly rough fur.
Iâve been sleeping a little better since that battle. I donât know if itâs because I learned something about my strength, and it boosted my confidence, or if it was just having some small comfort to use as bedding.
The knowledge I did this all by myself helps me sleep a little easier. My senses are not as unstable and panic-wired lately, and I feel less on edge.
I mean, I still keep one eye open at all times and stay alert, but Iâm not as nervy as I was, and I donât feel quite so barren in terms of low mood.
I feel capable, as though Iâve gotten through the worst, and I know I can do this. I have newfound self-respect in my capabilities, and that is changing my whole outlook.
Maybe skinning a bear and dealing with that disgustingness showed me I have way more fortitude than I thought I did.
Iâm also learning to turn at will, improving that ability, and I can almost turn in my sleep without a second thought. The more I do it, the easier it gets, and I can sustain it for longer as my stamina builds.
I can even turn singular parts, like my hand, without a complete body turn, which means Iâm gaining the control I need.
Like Colton, who uses his eyes to warn when he doesnât want to use his alpha gift or turn entirely, Iâm learning how to do it. I can physically feel when I make my eyes change now.
The weird thing, though, is my paws and stomach seem to be whiter than I remember. With each turn and without a mirror to thoroughly inspect myself, I canât tell if I am losing the gray.
It sounds stupid, but I think my gray fur is falling out or getting lighter, and I donât know why.
My legs, Iâm sure, were entirely gray, but now my feet are white too, and I donât know if maybe I just remember them dirty, or it was dark the first time I turned, but theyâre snow-white now.
I yawn and stretch out lazily, rolling over under my makeshift cocoon. The rough fur grazes my naked skin, which is oddly comforting, and I turn to gaze up at the clear sky this morning.
Itâs almost tropical blue and cloudless, with no hints of bad weather or rain like a few days back.
I deem it an excellent day for an early start, and as Iâve come up against some uphill terrain in a pretty thick part of the forest, I should savor some of this before I hit the shadows of the canopy.
Itâs dusky and gloomy in the dense parts, and I like to find clearings to settle at night to wake with the light.
I made a direction change after I set off from my bear battlefield.
Maybe it was the newfound self-confidence in my abilities or the adrenaline clouding my brain, but I embraced my instinct and headed east, just like my gut kept telling me to do.
Itâs not like I have anyone dictating otherwise or any destination I aim for.
It paid off, and I did a spot-check tree climb to see which direction the mountain lay.
Afterward, I surveyed the land and noted that south was taking me toward the clear landscape, fields, and open grounds with the hints of a town or city ahead.
East was taking me into the mountains, with dense woods, lower hills, cliffs scattered in continuous canopy cover, and many forests to get lost in.
I donât want to be among people if I can help it, so I decided east it was, and since then, Iâve felt strangely peaceful.
Itâs like the stirring aching feelings were not ~all~ about Colton, home, and being alone.
As soon as I hit my new direction, something inside me stopped preying on my thoughts, constantly filling me with a sense of wrong and despair.
Itâs almost like I answered something that had been bugging me, and maybe I should just embrace the fact my instincts were telling me east made more sense.
Which it does, even if Iâm no longer heading away from the mountain but sort of parallel to it now.
I feel like Iâm far enough that I will never accidentally stray into the path of a Santo, even if they come miles for whatever reason. Itâs a big world, and a chance encounter would be unlikely.