Tales Of Grimea Read Free Page A

he leapt vertically, towards
another branch. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the
immediate surroundings. A ripple moved towards him, fast, and the
man knew that if he moved his arms forward it would swoop down to
compensate. He put his palm in the correct spot and a large bird of
prey flew right into it. It had a menacing beak, black and white
feathers, and dangerous talons. The man smiled at his dinner.
    That day, the two footers looked upon him
with shock. No one caught that type of bird like that. Sometimes
they were found, perhaps even trapped by a genius, but never
caught. The man basked in it for a while, and then went to the
family he knew, giving them the bird and gesturing that with that,
his debt towards them has been paid in full. The father agreed.
    Day after day the two footer hunted, finding
better pray and understanding the lake within him better. There
were slight differences in the ripples, telling him exactly what he
was sensing and its conditions. The ripple of a river fish was
different from that of a lean beating crawler or a sighing
slitherer. Everything felt different and yet exactly the same. It
made hunting much easier for the two footer and freed him to think
of other things.
    It is incredible to behold what people could
achieve when they weren’t desperately fighting for survival. The
two footer realized that his new sense worked on some principle
different than climbing or understanding. There was something
within him, a stamina of sorts. Moreover, he realized that the lake
within him was the same one he saw from above in his mind’s eye,
and that the ripples were reflections upon his own senses. His
senses depended on the size of the lake, as well as intricacy of
what he felt. If he stretched himself thin, he could feel farther,
but with less detail. At distance, it was difficult to tell an
injured bird from a leaping climber.
    The two footer was fascinated with his
senses, and so sought to develop them. He began to store food, and
when he had enough for a week he went to his cave. It was not deep
nor bright. There were no animals and no wood, just leaves for him
to sleep on. It faced the sun’s rise to wake him up when time came,
and it was high to protect him from predators. Most importantly,
this small hole in the mountain was his home. On one side, its
right wall curved to allow him a seating space, and that was where
the two footer went.
    He sat, making himself comfortable. He
allowed his eyes to close and his breath to slow, then realized
that the children would not allow him to work in peace. He needed
another spot, and so tied up his storage of food in vines, making a
small bag for it. He took it deep into the jungle, to a giant tree
he knew of. The tree’s bark had seen many years, and so had mingled
with the death-green. Only, he understood that the death green had
nature and life within, small enough not to be noticed but
important all the same. The man came to this tree because it had a
hold in its trunk, allowing him to sit inside, hidden from
everything. There were enough pieces of bark to cover him from
predators, and the mossy seat was comfortable.
    The man sat, watching the sun set beyond his
mountain home. The light entered his eyes but stopped at his nose.
This was how he would tell time when a day passed. Once more, the
man allowed his consciousness to almost fade, closing his eyes and
slowing his breath. He became the lake and sensed innumerable
ripples all about. Wonder filled him at the euphoria of life, and
he could hear many voices, chattering together as one. He saw them
from above with his body as the center. He could see about as far
as he could run for a few heartbeats. Slowly he focused on that
feeling, allowing himself to push the boundaries whilst not rushing
things. More than anything, he focused on the pleasant sensation of
being one with himself.
    His senses travelled, and every time the
ripples became faint he would stop, savoring the sounds of