Flesh and Blood

On to the angst... again.


8
The scrawny man awoke the next morning with a bad taste in his mouth and he answered the sensation by indulging in a severed hand from a nearby jar. Gnawing on the gummy, pickled treat, he wandered the cabin aimlessly and finally opened the front door, heading outside.
The sun shone brightly, but a concussive wind went practically right through him. If there was anything to be said, living on a mountain had its difficulties. Three Finger knew that after a few more moons he would not have enough energy to run up and down the steep slopes of Bear Mountain and his body would eventually become round and sluggish. Such a concept was odd, because Three Finger could not imagine himself immobile or resting for more than ten minutes at a time.
Observing the variations of reds, oranges and yellows of the forest, the hunter suddenly dropped the hand and began a long run through the trees and brush, dodging and ducking low branches and dense foliage. This release was mandatory, and came to him at unexpected moments. Though he constantly moved and twitched, often he would receive an unexplainable impulse to explode in energy. He howled savagely as he ran, not caring about any prey he might frighten away in his moment of vigor. He felt as though he could reach upward and grab a billowy cloud at any time, either to take it with him or ride it through the sky. He wanted to jump off of cliff edges at times and see how he could withstand the fall out of pure curiosity, or to see if the powerful winds would carry him elsewhere.
Finally he fell to his knees, thoroughly exhausted. Leaning against a log, he panted, hand to his stomach as though to assure the dweller within that everything was alright. But he knew everything was not alright. This time he had a reason for running. He wanted to escape the feeling of insecurity he harbored from looking at those trees, at the vacant space around him. No matter what he did, he was still alone, and his father and brother were never coming back, even after he had eaten them and gained their strength. He barked out a clumsy sob and wept as he lay back against the fallen tree trunk. Three Finger could not run anymore, not when he felt as though two limbs had been ripped from his body when One Eye and Saw Tooth disappeared from his life.
Tears still fell pitifully as he climbed, fatigued, back up the hill to the cabin. Entering his home, the scrawny hunter slammed the door behind him, thoughts too occupied with memories of his family. They had always been with him… always. A day had not passed without at least one of them in his company. Two minutes later, he was back outside, and he stormed about the property, wailing and babbling nonsense and his own language. Everything now reminded Three Finger of the dead family which haunted him in his dreams and made him doubt his entitlement of ensuring the bloodlines. He would pick objects up and carry them around, only to put them back in their original position. Trails of mucus and salty moisture made pathways down his face as the sobs bubbled up from his throat. He felt so lost, so confused!
Wearing himself down was not the best idea he had conceived, and he collapsed, holding his head in his lop-sided hands. What could he do?? What would become of him?! He stayed in his prostrate position for a half hour, limbs bundled tightly as he covered his head as though preparing himself for a beating. His brain seemed to stop working…
Get up, he finally told himself. GET UP.
He was acting silly. Saw Tooth and One Eye would have been angry with him, but now for acting so foolish when he needed to move on. They would have wanted him to put the pup before him. Seeing the severed hand a few yards from him, he crawled over and began munching on it again. He needed to eat, first of all.
After the hand, and then a boiled stomach, Three Finger went about the interior of the house and began searching for articles of cloth and leather. He had forgotten to pack tiny clothes from the vehicles in the graveyard and until he could drive back and find some, or collect more from an obliging prey, he had to try and make some for his little one. Granted Three Finger was used to mending his own clothes, as well as One Eye’s, he had never actually made any.
Sewing together bits of tanned hide and fabric, Three Finger thought back on how often he had to fix his brother’s clothes. The big boy was always tearing them no matter what. One Eye was a strange one who never seemed to grow out of the mind of a pup. In the summers past when the brother had accidentally hurt himself or become frightened, he went to Three Finger for comfort. Saw Tooth was the real parent, but he was better equipped to provide a leader’s guidance and wisdom. Three Finger had become the mother the man-child never had the chance to know. Often during stormy nights the scrawny man found his arms around his little brother’s neck, a round, scarred face nuzzled into his bony chest as the big man embraced him as he slept. Even moons ago when Three Finger had been knocked from the tree by their escaped prey, it was One Eye who ran to his side, mortified at the sight of him unconscious on the ground.
Three Finger wept again as he sewed. He missed those moments with his brother so much, and wondered how things would have been if he were alive now. He wished he could feel One Eye’s big warm hand on his growing belly, and see the look of childish awe on the man’s face as this pup grew bigger inside him in passing time. No matter. If it was not going to happen, it was no use to think about it.
An hour later, Three Finger learned his skills in tailoring were little to nonexistent and he grumbled to himself irritably, flinging the article aside. Standing up, he went back outside, his shivering in the wind exaggerated by his nerve. Feeling the sunlight on his face, he turned corner of the house with plans of getting in the car and returning to the burnt cabin to find actual clothes.
He stopped however, when he passed something sitting against the cabin exterior, moving. He turned and looked again, hoping he was not imagining it, but there it was.
A bear cub.
The little ball of fur was clearly a black bear. Though smaller than the grizzly, they were still dangerous. And if a cub was present in the area, the sow was not far away. Nervously, Three Finger looked around, wondering the location of the mother, for now that he was a few paces away from her pup, she would be furious to see any sort of threat near it. The man had to ready some sort of weapon before she made herself known, and he reached for one of his saw blades.
The squalling roar behind him made him jump in surprise and as he turned to face her, the bear came lumbering at him at full speed.