At first, the shaman was knocked very nearly senseless. The ground rushed up towards his face, the world shaken to its core, all his senses overblown in that one fierce rush. A few more seconds, his story would only continue on in the bear‘s own tale.
The shaman, however, was friends with many spirits, and more than a few sprang to assist that day. Many small but crucial actions accumulated into just enough of a push on his consciousness to return him to his senses, and once in control of his faculties again the battle began to tilt heavily in his favor.
To an onlooker, it looked surely like the end. The bear was far larger, a horrible mass of roughly fanged jaws and great cables of rippling muscle under the thick shaggy fur. The shaman had a stick.
Moments later, the two set forth along the trail together, now best of friends. The bear was hungry, and shaman promised to help her find the best food in the forest. Shortly, the man kept his word, and with the aid of spirit friends led the beast to a grove packed with the most delicious berries imaginable, bursting with juice, each bush more laden with ripe heavy fruit than the last. He left the bear there, as content as she’d ever been. Once she’d had just a few more, she promised herself, she’d go round up her cubs and let them have a go. Just a few more first…
Meanwhile, the shaman made his way down the trail, more cautious now. Though he had no trouble besting the bear once he had his wits, he had certainly been taken off guard. He was in the wilderness now. There were things out here worse than bears, worse than himself. He had to be alert, aware. This was not the jungle, not his home, and he soon felt the return of an emotion he’d thought long gone. Fear came slinking back into his heart. First little rivulets of doubt, then cascading into torrents of anxiety. What if his people tried to chase him? What if people out here…didn’t like his people…and…and.
Night was falling now, and as he came to a flat open place along a cliff, with billions of glittering stars stretching above, he decided to make camp. It was a quick thing for one with his handling of magic to conjure up a small flame and even a simple lean-to for shelter. Soon a meal of oats, nuts, and leaves was simmering in a strange herbal sauce that was almost like tea. He didn’t like to kill to eat for every meal, it seemed excessive and every animal seemed alive to him, no matter how small. Even insects, he could see in their tiny eyes a life that echoed his own.
And he didn’t want to be a monster. He hated how his people lived, slaughtering and consuming everything that came within their cruel reach. He’d seen them kill just to kill, and leave the victims where they lie, be they rabbits, alligators, or…
Or anything or anyone. It made him feel like that, when he slew a fish to eat- he imagined how he would feel if he were the fish, and some great beast leaped in the water, grabbed him in a mighty fist and squeezed his heart till it stopped. He tried to kill as gently as he could…each time he thought it was his last, then the days went by and that hunger for flesh came back.
Some day he would leave the beast behind, and become a person.
