LemonJamTart

sorry for the delay, my stupid ass caught covid and the winter semester just started so college has been beating my ass with a metal pipe. i've recovered now and am coping with college, so don't worry— regular, weekly updates should resume. maybe more, if you're all good. as a treat

The arrival of the bright-orb after the long darkness brought with it a new trouble. The blue-light had returned to me, and though before I could send it away with a thought, now it would not leave me no matter what I tried.

The scent-speak it emitted was like a tunnel collapsing around me. Restricting, un-avoidable, and demanding of attention. This did not make it any less confusing, or complicated to understand. The few new-knowings I got from it were vague and un-certain. I now-knew that this light was not going to leave me be-- and more importantly, its near-being brings with it choices... chances to change things about myself. To become different from what I am.

I am unsure of how to feel about this-knowing. I feel an... odd, warm sensation gripping my-hearts, filling me with something I can-not understand. It gives me the shivers, as if it is nearly my-turn at the replete. At the same time, though, I feel something else tugging at my insides, like the talons of the snatching-thing-- a cold, itching-fear that has my limbs weak. Not unlike the starving-hunger I now feel after having woken up a bit more.

Still thinking on the blue-light's new-knowings, glancing up at it every now and then, I make my way down to my larder. I do not wish to eat, but it would be folly not to- especially after the effort spent butchering this-thing. As I ate, I could feel some-thing flowing out from the prey-meat and into the rest of me. Like cold-water worming its way between joints, it spread through my soft-flesh, stoking my life-fire. Like I could run many-times without stopping, and still feel as though I had just woken. This was… not-normal. But not un-good. It also raised more questions; my-sisters had never-spoken of a thing like this. Then again, could they have? Their-speech was… hm. I stopped my-thoughts. When had I started to think of their-speech as less than mine? As *small*? They spoke only of food-here, of danger-near, of follow-me and water-there. The way I thought, now, was more than that. And I could certainly express it, though clumsily with such limited types of scent. If they were like me, why would they not do the same? When had I become *different*, and how? Even more-bad, my-speech now was… well, it was more like… like Mother’s. That thought sent waves of nausea through me, similar but different to last night’s. Why did it scare me so? My meal finished, I went to look once more at the blue-light— but, strangely, it was gone. The only remnant of its presence was a wisp of scent-speak that told me it would come to me once more when I was ready. This was acceptable. I could not muster the thought-energy to make my choice just yet.

I should have been out hunting by now. Foraging. Working on my-home. Instead, for some-time, I sat and thought. I was not what I was before. In a way, I— I was something new. Before was only ever ‘this’, not-being someone but still something. That made me stop. I thought of myself as ‘one’ now. Not a sister. Separate from my-family. No-sister I have known has ever looked like me. Ever thought like me. I stood differently, walked differently, hunted differently. I had extra parts  and the ones I already had were shaped-different. Worse, I would *keep* changing. Keep becoming different. What, then, am I? If I am not-sister, and I can-not possibly be as great as Mother (who surely would not struggle as I have), am I prey? If a sister saw me now, would she bring me home, welcome me to the replete-chamber? Or would she slay me, and bring me back as meat to be butchered and fed to the new-sisters?

I had to stop myself. With each thought I felt the bile rising in my throat, a reaction that did not match the invisible hand that now squeezed it shut. I breathed slowly, deliberately, and tried to force my-mind toward other-things. I found some-success, but still it smoldered in some dark part of me. A matter… for another time.

I had meat now, enough for several days. The fur-thing was plump and muscular. My-home was sufficient, if not comfortable… an odd-problem, comfort had never been an issue before. Desired but not quite important, then— would do last. Foraging, then. I had already found a tasty-plant, that of the white root. However, they were far from me. Could I move them somehow? A growing source of food would be a very good-thing. I know plants grows from seeds. I know fungus grows from rot, but only in certain conditions and with certain feed. I know animals grew from eggs laid by a Mother. Although, Mother-eggs only made sisters. Of course, every animal must have a Mother to lay the many eggs of their kind; this was the most-efficient and most-smart way to grow a family. But, I do not-know what such Mothers would look like. Grand, certainly— powerful and regal. Could I capture one? Keep it captive instead of butchering it, harvest its young for food? A dangerous task, but… Even if one did not give food… I wanted something, someone to speak to. Even if they could not understand me. Noted for later.

My hard-thinking finished, my priorities were as such: Harvest seeds. Then, harvest fungus to try to grow. Then, investigate other-Mothers. And, finally… find a thing to bring home. Maybe. I am not-sure.

I raised the pelt of the fur-thing up and across my shoulders. The dried pelt kept such fur-things warm— I believed it could do the same for me. So, I had cleaned it before I slept, scraped the gore and viscera from it, anything that might rot. I had washed it in the water and let it dry on a slab I had dug from the rock. I know air dried water from my hard-skin, so I tried to make more contact with air by cutting strips of stone from the slab. A prayer to Mother that this had worked and the pelt dried faster and better. I could not tell. It felt warm and good-soft wrapped about me, and so I believe it worked well.

I thought about my battle with the fur-thing. It had hurt me, and badly. I killed it before it could kill me, but it would have been best to not be hurt by doing so. How could I avoid being hurt?

It was my-stinger that gave me the idea. My-stinger was part of a new limb, a thick, fat tail. It stored no organs except the ones that make and hold my new-venom. It would grow back if hurt at my next molt. The only danger being hurt there presented was bleeding. My-tail could keep an enemy at range with the threat of being stung, and would hurt them if they got closer. If, like I can with my-tail, I could hold an enemy far from me with a threat, and hurt them with that same threat…

The fur-thing’s claws and teeth— they were sharp. Sharp enough to pierce my hard-skin. Normally, I would throw such inedible things out… but the bones remained to be used as building materials, and the claws were still attached to the pelt. As for what they would be stuck to… A rod of some kind seemed best. Long, too, maybe even as long as me. Stone is too brittle, too heavy… it would snap easily if bent. Bone has a similar problem, and worse, no bone is long enough to fit my needs. Wood, then, it is.

By the time I found a suitable stick, the bright-orb was nearing the edge of the world, painting the sky in colors and patterns that I had never taken the time before to see. Beautiful as it was, I could not stare at it for long. I stripped the stick as best I could with my claws, leaving grooves at the end for the claws and teeth- as well as a groove at the very tip for the largest of either that I could find. In those grooves I mixed my saliva and the sap of the tree I tore this rod from; the adhesive effect of my-kind’s spit is little, but enough to matter. I placed the pointy-bits as snugly and securely as I could in their grooves before binding them closer to their new home with sinew from the fur-thing. Time would tell if this would work; while the sticking-mess dried, it would be good for me to do something else… perhaps trying my seeds-plan… but the bright-orb has gone from the sky by now, and my before-fears and now-labors have exhausted me. Tomorrow, then.