Finally, after a good amount of time, the food I had prepared for Nala and for the female bear and her cub was completely ready. A large quantity of large steaks—some weighing over a kilogram—finely fried, perfectly marinated, and well-seasoned, such that the flavor would be pleasant enough for both them and me.
Additionally, certain extras could be added to, so to speak, personalize the flavor a bit and better adjust it to taste. For example, sometimes Nala likes spicy food and sometimes she doesn't; depending on that, I make sure to have plenty of hot sauce available at home or on the table. I'll also make sure that the mother bear, in case she likes spicy food, has access to it.
Of course, one must consider the possibility that she simply wants to try it, because spicy food isn't very pleasant for most people… although, in this case, we're talking about a three-eyed mother bear. But who knows? Maybe she'll end up liking it if she tries it, considering that spicy food, despite everything, can have an exquisite taste.
I also have another sauce made from herbs, some a little sweet, others a little more bitter, and others a little sweet-and-sour, so they can add it and simply enjoy it. I go to the front of the house and call Nala, who was talking calmly with the bear.
Since she doesn't have telepathic ability, I think I need to ask the collar to also give Nala that ability, so she can communicate more clearly with her and make spending time together much more fun for them, also making them both closer.
Even more so considering how well they're getting along already. The little cub was still in Nala's arms, and he seemed very comfortable, nestled between Nala's breasts, which are naturally quite large and soft.
I can confirm that firsthand.
Nala puts the little cub on the ground the moment she realizes I'm calling her. She knows perfectly well what it's for, as her sense of smell should already be telling her that the food is ready. However, when she approaches, I give her clear instructions:
—Nala, I need help taking the food outside. If you can, help me also take out the table so you and I can sit down, and bring the large buckets I used to serve the food to the mother bear and the cub.
She simply nods, goes inside, and with a graceful, controlled movement, takes the table that's inside the house and brings it out without too many problems.
Fortunately, the door is wide enough for the wooden table to suffer no inconvenience. She also brings out two chairs, and I bring out the plates of food, both hers and mine.
This immediately catches the attention of the bear and the cubs, as the aroma of the food reached their noses a while ago and was extremely exquisite, to the point where they couldn't help but drool at that moment. It doesn't take long before all the food is outside.
They each have a bucket filled to the brim with meat. I even have raw meat prepared in the house, in case they're not satisfied with just the cooked meat. After all, both are quite large and surely require large amounts of food. Although well, I'm not someone who knows precisely about the biology of this type of animal, nor the amount of food they need; after all, I'm a newcomer to this world.
The mother bear thanks me telepathically for the food, saying: "Thank you very much, Adonai, for the food. Normally... mmm... I don't have to wait quite a while to eat, and cooked or burnt food isn't delicious." I replied: "But this one is." She continued: "Exquisite."
I couldn't help but ask: "Have you ever cooked food yourselves?" And she replied: "Yes, I tried it once out of curiosity, at a fire/campfire created by a light that descended from the sky. I tried using the fire to cook the food, but in the end, the meat became quite unpleasant: it turned black, brittle, and tasted horrible."
I couldn't help but wonder what that "light from the sky" was, but I quickly came to the conclusion, after thinking for a few seconds, that it was lightning. Since they don't have a name as such for that word, they simply say "light from the sky." It seems that automatic telepathic translation doesn't translate everything with precision, something not very unexpected, considering the large number of functions the gem currently has.
"That means you burned it—I told her—but don't worry, this food is cooked perfectly." And she added: "I know, I can tell. It smells completely and absolutely different from the burnt piece of meat I made that time. Thank you very much for this food. And I hope you enjoy yours."
"Yes, I hope the same. Bon appétit!" "Bon appétit!" —she said after thinking for a few seconds, without knowing precisely what it meant, but the translation fusion made her understand more or less what it was about. (or so I think)
The little cub had already started eating a while ago, and the sound of its jaws opening and closing—with the snap of its teeth breaking and easily piercing through the meat of the steaks—was simply a pleasant symphony to the ears. The little growls and ?moans? representing its absolute ecstasy while eating sounded… well, like that.
Pleasant.
I couldn't help but wonder why it was so different from the sound of bears on planet Earth, but after all, this is another planet: it can't, and doesn't have to, be exactly the same.
I don't even know why I keep being surprised by this kind of difference. Besides, it's not like I remember everything from planet Earth; literally, I'm barely recovering my memories. (and I still don't remember much)
In any case, time passes, and the mother bear also begins to eat. She expresses to me, again and again, through the telepathic link, that the food is simply exquisite, and that she hopes that at another time I will also be able to provide her with the same, which I would obviously accept: it would be the least I could do as thanks for having helped my dear Nala.
Nala, who had already finished eating, was gently massaging her belly, waiting for me to give her more food. Obviously, being a pregnant woman, she wanted to eat in greater quantity. I simply nodded and went to get a food reserve I had specifically prepared for her inside the house, which, obviously, was freshly cooked.
I came out with another plate full with two more kilogram steaks, and she didn't hesitate in the slightest: she simply ate them, devouring them without any shame. At that… I couldn't help but simply smile and let things be that way.
I stood staring at Nala, and not only me, but also the cub and the bear, who, even being a little calmer when eating, also made various sounds of enjoyment. Even the mother emitted much larger and more developed growls compared to those of her baby.
It was a moment of quite pleasant peace and tranquility, something that wouldn't typically be seen in a place like this, in a forest of this type. I also couldn't help but notice that the wind was especially strong and pleasant today, quite sweet. The leaves of the trees swayed and rubbed gently, making faint and pleasant murmurs.
I stood staring at the insects flying and landing, some on flowers, others on berries, making small holes and eating what they found inside (whether pulp or worms).
Others, surprisingly, carried the seeds of those same berries and scattered them around. Who knows if it's some kind of measure they use to ensure the reproduction of their food? Or does this plant reproduce like this by chance, emitting some kind of substance that sticks its seeds to their exoskeletons for a time?
Perhaps, just perhaps, they like to hear the sound of seeds falling to the ground. I can't give an explanation to this, although I would like to be able to in the future.
About fifteen minutes later, we're all satisfied. We've eaten a large amount of food.
Naturally, I had to bring even more meat—raw—from what I had ready inside the house, for the mother bear and her cub to eat, because they were still hungry.
They enjoyed it greatly, thanks to me treating it and making sure it was suitable for their consumption; although it's not like there's anything in that meat they can't eat, since they've literally been eating it raw their whole lives.
It's always been that way.
Nala was calmly watching the little cub with a slightly maternal and quite affectionate expression. I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she saw in that little one what our babies will be in the future. It was pleasant just to think about it.
Perhaps she wishes to give birth as soon as possible, although the best thing is always to be patient.
As time passed, the mother bear along with her baby—no longer so small due to its swollen belly—withdrew, not without first thanking us greatly for the food:
"Thank you very much. I'll make sure to see if I can bring some kind of delicious meat that you can use for your food. I would also like to answer some of the questions you said earlier you wanted to ask me during our conversation after the meal, but that will be for another time. Currently, I have some things to do: I have to go look for... mmm... the thick golden liquid, or honey, I think that's the term you can use, for my baby to eat. He likes it very much, but unfortunately my reserves have run out." she says, gratefully.
"If you need help with anything, you can come at any time and tell me. I'm completely free, unless, of course, I'm busy with something. In that case, you'll have to be more patient." I reply, in a pleasant voice.
The mother is considerably grateful for this and adds:
"You would be quite useful, considering that you can climb at a faster speed than me, or so I think. You can also use your hands to hold and lower the honey without problems, although you have to be careful because the insects that protect their hives are quite large and have sharp stingers. I don't know if your skin is thick enough to withstand their attacks."
I simply smile.
"Don't worry, my skills and abilities are strong enough to protect myself from that kind of thing. See you."
This time, ending the conversation, she simply nods—imitating the gesture—and subsequently turns around and continues on her way along with her little one, who says goodbye to Nala by lifting his little paw before leaving with his mother.
Nala approaches me and gently hugs my arm while looking at me with a smile. She approaches my cheek and gives me a soft kiss on it. I couldn't help but smile, as I always do when she kisses me.
It's a pleasant feeling, isn't it, receiving kisses on the cheeks. I also couldn't help but look down, right where she was, and I could see her exquisite cleavage... of great chestiness.
Really, simply a wonderful view.
Considerably exciting too.
I decided then to take Nala by the hand and take her with me inside the house to do "activities."
After all, I think she would also need a little relief after her meal.
So some time passes, and we spend the rest of the day doing our things. During the afternoon, I dedicated myself to trying to make small wooden sculptures after my recreational "activity" with Nala. It's difficult; no matter if I use knives or my own claws, it's complicated to work with wood like this. I have no experience of any kind; it's just something that occurred to me and that I always wanted to do.
After all, making wooden sculptures—or of any kind—is a good way to give physical form to certain memories, objects, or people one remembers.
For example, I'm currently trying to make a wooden sculpture of the mother bear, obviously with all the luxuries of detail, but it turned out quite badly: the legs are not the same size, they're not proportional, the head is too big, I couldn't carve the little hairs well... among other things. It's quite overwhelming and I feel considerably clumsy. But it doesn't matter: with time, a person learns.
And I don't precisely know how long my lifespan is, or Nala's... I consider it's quite long.
So I have quite a lot of time to learn and develop this kind of thing.
Also, there are quite a few books on things I can learn among the trunks I brought from the camp settlement where all the things were originally. I still wonder: what were human beings doing in this world? And in what year or earthly era is planet Earth, considering they had technology for interstellar travel?
Sometimes I look at the sky and think: could human beings ever arrive here someday? And what should I do? Should I try to have some kind of approach with them, considering that I used to be a human being? Or simply act cautiously, considering how evil humanity is by nature?
I can't say that the species to which I belonged—and to which they belong—is the best, but at least they are closer to being animals with insufficient brain development. In Nala's case, unless she's not unique, she's special: she's intelligent and capable of learning, understanding, and communicating verbally. (she can also create strategies and I think she can distinguish between good and evil.)
I haven't seen other members of her species yet, but I consider that she should be special among them, considering that she shows quite developed social behavior.
So they probably lived in a pack, or she had the example of her pack. Sometimes I wonder if she was simply a loner who wanted to leave and everyone else let her do it, or if she is even more special than it seems.
In any case, now she's here with me.
Yes. After stopping rambling about planet Earth and everything else, I begin to make another sculpture of the mother bear, but this time I try to put even more effort and dedication, making sure it turns out perfect.
However, although it ends up being better than the previous one, it's still quite bad. I continue like this until it gets late, night falls. Nala, obviously, wants me to return home so we can sleep together in peace.
Not much time passes before I fall asleep. However, there's something that worries me a bit. I feel that something could happen soon, and I think the best thing would be to start making certain preparations.
So, mentally, I outline some considerations and countermeasures: I think the time has come to start using advanced weapons, make large traps to ensure that certain monsters and beasts don't come close, and I also have to, in a much more proactive way, mark my scent in different places of my territory, so that animals know that there is a predator—a beast—present here, that will defend its territory to the maximum possible extent.
In this case, I think I should let my most protective instincts completely take over, to ensure the life of myself and Nala.
As if my instincts were capable of predicting the future with a certainty that terrifies me and, at the same time, makes me feel a deep and inexplicable sadness.
Something began in the sky.
I left the house early in the morning; the sky was still dark when it shouldn't be, plagued by an oppressive twilight. The sunlight was unable to tear through the mantle of ash-gray clouds, whose edges seemed frayed with extremely dark fingers.
I couldn't think of anything other than the beginning of a storm, but in reality, my unease pointed to something more complex and ominous.
I observed, with an attention that tensed the muscles of my neck, how the gray masses moved in an unnatural way, alien to any weather pattern I knew.
One group moved forward abruptly, another retreated as if hitting an invisible wall, some shook in erratic sideways movements or sank and rose in spasmodic jerks. It was then that certainty hit me with cold clarity: that couldn't be clouds.
It was physically impossible.
I don't consider myself an authority to define the laws of physics in this world, but a cloud, nor a set of them, would ever move with that coordination of a living being. The question, sharp as a dart, stuck in my mind: what kind of beings was I seeing?
I tried to sharpen my vision as much as possible, forcing my eyes until I felt a slight painful pressure. I focused on the dark spots, looking for an outline, a detail. Some of those dots separated from the main group, and in that brief moment of definition I could distinguish that they were some type of bird, but extremely small, more or less the size of sparrows on planet Earth. Or, at least, that was the size my perception could deduce considering the proportions and the kilometer distance that separated us.
In reality, they could be a little larger, or a little smaller; uncertainty was another factor of fear, in this case.
Nala, who had already woken up and had also performed her morning ritual of washing her face—a habit she had developed thanks to me, seeing me do it constantly—came out to meet me. She had used a bucket of cold water, a freshness she had already gotten used to, to clean herself.
The moment her feet touched the outside and her gaze rose towards the sky, a short, guttural growl charged with primitive force escaped her throat.
Without a word, her body moved with a speed that left me paralyzed: she closed the door behind her with a dry slam, but upon realizing that I was outside, she opened it again, her hand grabbing my wrist with a pressure that made my bones creak, and pulled me inside in a sharp, decisive yank.
The force she used frightened me greatly, and I couldn't help but think that what was lurking outside was something so dangerous that it had unleashed this instinctive and protective panic in her.
Inside, with my heart hammering in my chest, I began to quickly carry out some mental preparations, while the question echoed in my head: what the hell was that thing in the sky? A few minutes of tense silence passed, until little by little, through the walls, I was able to hear the sound. It wasn't the song of birds, but the constant flapping, a raspy sound multiplied by thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, as if the sky itself were breathing with difficulty.
Nala and I cautiously peered through the window. The outside world had transformed into a scene of silent panic. All kinds of animals were hiding: creatures resembling small mice, but with six small pink, agile legs—beings I had never seen on Earth—were digging holes in rotten wood or slipping into stone cracks with desperate haste.
Insects were burying themselves in mud or taking refuge inside rotting fruits.
Larger animals, like crimson-skinned lizards and even a beast that greatly resembled that six-legged stone rhinoceros against which Nala and I had fought—the one that could expel boiling blood—were fleeing into their burrows or flattening themselves against the ground, motionless.
A shiver ran down my spine as I understood the magnitude of the threat: whatever was in the sky had the power to terrify even the most formidable predators.
The silence outside became increasingly dense and absolute, to the point where one could have heard the sound of a dry leaf falling within a hundred-meter radius without any problem.
Of course, that was only if one managed to ignore the perpetual, soft yet ominous sound of the coordinated flapping of tens of thousands of small black birds that carpeted the sky.
Both Nala and I felt overwhelmed by the atmospheric pressure of fear. I could notice how Nala moved her tail from side to side with a nervous, spasmodic rhythm, nothing like her usual sway of curiosity or happiness.
Her pupils, contracted into thin slits, sharpened, and her double eyelids blinked constantly, moistening the surface of her eyes with an anxious frequency, making sure not to lose sight for a second of the beings orbiting above us.
It was then that Nala, with her sharpened perception, caught a movement. One of the bushes, a few meters from the house, shook with unusual violence. What emerged from among the branches made both her and me hold our breath. It was the little brown three-eyed cub, the son of the mother bear.
He was alone, disoriented, and trembling with fear.
Nala, upset and invaded by a maternal instinct as fierce as that of any beast in this world, tensed like a spring. Her body leaned towards the door; she was going to go out, she was going to go for him. That would have happened, if not because I reacted in time and firmly took her by the arms, holding back her impulse.
—Go out! —she said, with difficulty, forcing the word in a high tone full of urgency.
—No —I told her, keeping her inside the house with an effort that made me sweat—. I'll bring the little one. Don't worry.
She calmed down a degree or level, but not completely.
I could notice how nervousness made every one of her muscles tremble, a low-frequency vibration that transmitted pure dread. Worry made her lick her lips again and again, showing the edge of her fangs. This reaction, so primal and honest, only made my own concern for the environment, and for her, increase to an almost unbearable point.
I didn't want to imagine what kind of beings those were, capable of overwhelming and terrifying a creature like Nala in such a way.
Quickly, I went out. My steps were fast and long, urgent strides that took me to the bush. The little cub looked at me with its three bright eyes full of panic, and with one of its small front paws, it raised it in a gesture that seemed both a greeting and a plea.
I also greeted him, trying to sketch a smile and maintain a kind expression on my face, although my body was alert, every muscle ready to react to whatever.
It was then, at that precise moment of fragile connection, when the movement in the sky changed. The murmur of flapping transformed into a chaotic, frenetic beating.
The black birds began to agitate with even greater intensity, their previously coordinated formation dissolving into a whirlwind of crazy avian panic. They had detected or perceived something that caught their attention in the worst way.
For a second, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: they would dive down, peck us, scratch us. But no.
What happened wasn't something so simple or gentle.
Suddenly, a sound pierced the atmosphere. It was a screech, but not from any ordinary bird. It was the screech of something giant, so colossal that I felt the air itself vibrate and compress against my skin.
The sound was distant, yes, but of such overwhelming power that it made my internal organs vibrate, as if my own body resonated in response to the shockwave coming from the direction where the beast was.
Without thinking twice, I took the little cub in my arms—his warm, trembling body clung to me—and ran towards the house with a speed I didn't know I had. The black birds in the sky, as if obeying a signal of death, scattered in all directions at dizzying speed, trying to flee from something. And in that moment of terrifying clarity, I realized: they weren't there to attack.
They were gathering in that dense mass for the same reason fish do in the ocean or starlings on Earth: to confuse the predator, to sacrifice some and ensure, at least, the survival of part of the group.
And how did I know there was a predator? Because I couldn't ignore, nor forget, the fact that I had just heard that screech.
And because, looking up one last time before crossing the threshold, I saw it. A giant bird, a silhouette that outlined its monstrosity against the ash-gray sky. Six wings spread like funeral shrouds, six eyes glowing with cold, intelligent light.
Its mere approach displaced masses of air that shook the tallest trees, making their trunks creak and tearing branches. Its form vaguely resembled that of a raven, but perverted and enlarged to a nightmare scale: thick, sharp spines grew along its body and wings, natural armor it could use both to defend itself and to ram.
Its beak, curved and deadly, was almost as large as my entire torso. This wasn't a hunter of small terrestrial beasts; it was a predator of the skies, a scourge that probably fed on creatures like the giant snakes Nala and I had faced, or even larger things. (although I doubt it could easily defeat them)
Its presence explained the absolute terror permeating the forest.
Entering the house, the contrast was brutal. Nala was standing in the middle of the main room, but she wasn't the serene, powerful Nala I knew. She was striking her tail against the earthen floor, each impact stronger and more energetic than usual, shaking dust.
She even seemed to be letting out low, stifled moans, as if feeling a sharp pain in her chest. Finally, she let herself fall sitting on the floor, hugging herself in a desperate attempt to calm the tremors running through her.
I couldn't help but feel deeply disturbed. For a second, a stupid, tiny second blinded by rage, the dumbest thought in the world crossed my mind: go out, face that thing, finish off the being that was causing Nala so much fear.
But reason, cold and logical, immediately invaded me, drowning out that heroic and suicidal impulse. It made me understand, with brutal clarity, that if I committed that stupidity, I would end up dead. Not necessarily because that being, that giant bird of six wings and six eyes, of a dark metallic blue and skin probably thick as armor, was stronger than me in brutal terms.
But for a simpler and more devastating reason: he could fly and I couldn't.
He could attack from an unreachable dimension and I couldn't.
He could take advantage of the slightest carelessness, fall like lightning, and catch me in his claws, which, although I didn't see them, I was sure were extremely sharp and capable of piercing any bodily defense I could oppose.
Quickly, with the cub still in my arms, I approached the corner where Nala had taken refuge. She, upon seeing us, urgently extended her arms and took the little one from me, wrapping him in a protective embrace. The cub trembled uncontrollably and emitted a pitiful, sharp sound, similar to a stifled cry.
Another wave of worry flooded me. So, moving with the greatest calm I could fake, I knelt before them and began to gently rub both their heads, first Nala's, and then the little cub's, at the base of their necks. A small, repetitive, reassuring gesture, while outside, the world held its breath under the shadow of the six wings.
I peered through the window with a curiosity so tense it was almost painful, but I did it slowly, controlling every centimeter of my movement.
My goal was to become another shadow, a static fragment of the cabin, so that I wouldn't be noticed in the slightest. The body I have, with its enhanced biology, allowed me to maintain a perfectly immobile posture, but that didn't calm the icy fear that that thing, with its six eyes of peripheral vision, could be capable of detecting me even through the opaque glass of the window and launch itself at us inside here.
Our house is a fortress, built from materials made by the gem, with origins from wood and stone.
But that didn't take away the terrifying fact that that being was gigantic, and that its beak, surely composed of keratin or material harder than steel, was probably extremely hard, sharp, and capable of destroying more than wood and easily shattering metal.
With my own eyes, forcing them to maintain their gaze despite the horror, I could see how that giant thing devoured tens, perhaps hundreds, of those poor small black birds. Its method was brutally efficient: an immense bite that closed like a trap the size of a room, and the birds that failed to dodge in the last microsecond disappeared crushed.
Immediately, the rest of the flock stirred in a whirlwind of panic, living murmurs twisting from side to side trying to escape the void the predator created with each charge. But it was a macabre game of probabilities: it was impossible for all to escape. Always, with each pass, a large number of them were engulfed, turned into an unidentifiable mass.
I could see, with sharp, grotesque clarity, how large amounts of a thick liquid—blood of an intense, vibrant red, mixed with another substance of an oily black—fell in heavy drops from the great height, splattering the treetops and the ground like a rain of black or dark red blood.
The air, even filtered through the window, must have been charged with the metallic smell of blood and the chaos of broken feathers.
Little by little, however, the feast came to an end. Once that giant animal, that King Bird (a provisional name my mind gave it at that instant), seemed more and more satisfied, its attacks became less frequent. Until it reached a point, after letting out one last extremely loud screech or roar—a sound that resonated in my bones and seemed to say, with bestial arrogance, "I'm full now"—that it simply turned around.
With powerful beats of its six wings that generated hurricane-force winds even at a distance, the monster returned to the depths of the sky, towards the mysterious direction from which it had come, leaving behind a sudden silence charged with death.
However, inside the cabin, peace didn't come. Nala and the cub were still trembling on the floor. Nala didn't let him go; she hugged him against her chest as if her body could be a shield against fear itself.
Long minutes of thick, unnatural silence stretched on. It was the silence of a forest holding its breath, as if all living beings, from the smallest insect to the ancient trees, were waiting for a trap, convinced that in reality the King Bird had hidden among the clouds, waiting with perverse patience for someone to let their guard down and go out, to then descend and eat the first fool to move.
That includes me.
I couldn't help but feel deeply frightened. A cold that had nothing to do with temperature had settled at the base of my spine. However, in the midst of that fear, my rational mind began to work with great coldness. And it reached an irrevocable conclusion, clear as crystal: that being, that King Bird.
Must be eliminated, no matter what.
I couldn't allow something like that to exist, not even in the surroundings of my house. It wasn't right at the door, it's true, but it was close enough. Its hunting territory clearly overlapped with our safety zone.
Close enough that, in a simple mistake, on an exploration walk or in a moment of distraction, Nala and I would end up encountering it in the sky. Or worse, infinitely worse: that one of our babies, once born, would become a potential target, a vulnerable prey.
So, while the scene of the massacre was still burned into my retina, I began to think. My fear began to transmute, drop by drop, into a fierce, methodical determination. I began to make a mental inventory of the different types of weapons I had at my disposal in the cabin and the workshop, of the traps I could design, of the weak points that a flying being of such size might have.
I even thought about using the gem, to improve myself or improve the weapons with the various materials it might need, something that should be possible considering its capabilities.
Passive patience was over. The fright solidified into purpose. I think it's time, more than ever, to carry out serious and lethal preparations.
Not to defend myself within these four walls, but to go and fight this king.
To hunt the hunter.
Author's Note: short chapter, about 5,800 words. I hope you enjoyed it. I would have liked to add more things, but I couldn't. Thanks for reading. Thanks for the support, you are much loved.