The morning after his meeting with the Designer, Dahj was finding it difficult to focus on the lunch laid before him. A plate consisting of dried grasses, fatty nuts, delicious seeds, and decorative flowers. Though it was generous and quite complex, Dahj had no appetite to consume it.

Sitting across from him at the long, low legged table were various rodents and small mammals that frequently glanced at him or outright stared. They seemed to be easily distracted from their meal as well. Some too small to stand at the table, they would instead sit at the very edge near their tiny plates. Dahj, however, was struggling to find a comfortable way to approach the table with his new posture, and settled with kneeling. As he reached across the table to grab another stack of grasses with his hand, a few of the animals froze in disbelief. How quickly he forgot what an exceptional physical capability it was to grab things.

“What does it feel like?” inquired a beaver sitting across from him, eyes glued to the hand.

“New… I suppose,” muttered Dahj dismissively. “I’ve had hooves my entire life. I’d imagine it now feels similar to an appendage of your own, beaver.”

The beaver nodded slowly as he resumed gnawing on his wooden meal with large front teeth.

Dahj rose from the table, heading for the expansive hallways and snug corridors that led further into the mountain that neighbored the massive tree. It seemed every turn had a new room with a unique resident or specific purpose. Sloths and opossums hung lazily from branches within rooms that varied in size depending on the inhabitant. Amenities included piles of grass or tufts of hair as bedding, and small shelves dug out of rock walls for storage.

It was clear that rodents had the task of residential design. Dahj passed common areas where mammals would intermingle, work together on digging new paths, or frolic in small puddles collected from the porous ceilings of the cave.

Eventually, he came across a room stocked floor to ceiling with perfectly straight sticks, miscellaneous bones and rocks, and reeds of precisely measured lengths. A possum paced the floor of the room, organizing and taking inventory of his items.

“Excuse me…” Dahj said softly as not to startle the possum. “What is all this?”

The possum whipped around. “Ah…” he said, eyes narrowed down his long snout. The possum had to strain his neck to look up at Dahj, causing his long mouth to hang open and exposed two sharp fangs.

“You must be Dahj. I wasn't expecting your presence today.” There was a slight wheeze to his voice.

“You were expecting me?”

“Well yes!” the possum wheezed louder, forcing the air from his lungs. “The Designer mentioned crafting ‘defensive tools’ to you, did he not?”

“And – you're gonna teach me how to craft these?” He eyed the small mammal up and down, unable to believe him.

The possum laughed harshly, which turned to wheeze. “Well yes! Us possum are one of the only species to be granted a thumb! We are truly proud of it. Without one, we would not be masters of our craft! Now come, let me teach you how to make a few defensive tools and the importance of each one.”

For hours, Dahj and the crafter worked on many forms of tools. Dahj fumbled frequently when tying reeds; they were incredibly difficult to work with using his large thumb and leathery fingers. His dexterity needed a lot of practice. Luckily the possum’s tiny fingers were able to meticulously attach rocks and sharpened bones to the end of sticks. He instructed Dahj how to sharpen spears and the importance of what materials he can utilize in nature.

“This one,” the crafter said proudly, “is a bludgeon!” He wheezed as he lifted a smooth, rounded boulder firmly tied to the end of a sturdy log. “Aim for the head with this one. And this one, is for jabbing near the ribs. That's where the heart is!” He held up a perfectly straight stick, about half the height as Dahj with a sharp point. Reeds were tied around it, towards the base, forming a grip.

“Lastly is a hatchet.” The possum gestured to a project they had finished earlier. It was a sharp, triangular rock wedged and tied into a shorter, sturdy stick. “That one's not just for defense, you know! They are great for chopping and harvesting too!”

Dahj took the three primitive, crudely made tools and felt the weight of each in his hands. He turned them over multiple times as he reveled at the concept of a bison holding such items. As he took a few practice swings in the air with the hatchet, he thought of his herd. What a difference these tools would have made when harvesting food or defending themselves from predators. These truly would have been a welcome gift during the harsh cold seasons.

“Just remember…” the possum said cautiously. “These are for protection… not aggression. You'll need something to help carry these on your person… I recommend visiting other crafters down the hall for a belt or some straps.”

***

Dahj returned to his designated living quarters, which was no more than a hollowed-out room. There was one seat; a leveled space that had been gnawed around against the wall that made a platform. One small hole in the wall allowed light and fresh air to seep into the room.

There was, however, a generous pile of grasses mixed with fur in the corner to sleep on. The smell of the bed was musty and odd – like a collaboration of too many different mammals that he was not accustomed to sleeping with. He was now sporting three new tools, a belt crafted from reeds and small tufts of fur, and a sling to carry the spear on his back. The only thing he did not carry with him, was confidence.

Information had recently been divulged quickly – yet, he didn't know the identity of his enemy yet – or if he even had one. The job description the Designer had laid before him had been incredibly vague and possibly misleading. His credentials for the position he had mysteriously been elected for did not feel justified or deserved. Although he considered himself an effective leader, Dahj didn’t make the connection from leading a group of bison around to feed, to fighting off vicious predators in the forest with a stick.

Blankly staring at the simple paintings of various animals hung on the wall, Dahj desperately wracked his brain, attempting to recall the events that led to him ‘falling’. All he could retrieve were memories of his home fields. Migrating, feeding, leading. Keeping the herd in sight and ensuring everyone got their fill. In fact, at this time of year there was very little competition for the feeding grounds that the Kleeclok herd frequented, and predators were generally quite infrequent.

He needed to clear his head. Perhaps another lap around the common area would help, as his room was beginning to make him feel claustrophobic.

***

“Check out this stud!” a raccoon called out as Dahj entered one of the smaller dining areas.

The green Guardian did his best to crack a smile – first impressions were always important. Even if Dahj was not interested in engaging a conversation, it was always polite to force some small-talk before moving on.

Petite and fit, the raccoon that called for his attention was quite average for her species. Her fur was predominantly whiter than the average raccoon – she did, however, sport a jet-black ‘blindfold’ that extended from ear to ear across her eyes.

“Isn't that just the most capable bison I ever saw!” the raccoon continued. “I guess you're good for more than just clearing a field after all, eh?”

“And you, raccoon? You giant… banded rodent,” Dahj teased back. “What more purpose do you serve than a professional thief?”

“I’ll have you know I fall under the category of gatherer… friend. My name is Festelda,” she said with a broad smile, chest puffed and small hand extended.

Dahj glanced at her tiny hand. Raccoons had also been the lucky recipients of thumbs recently, and it seemed she was utilizing them quite well. Small pouches made of patched grasses and reeds hung from a belt of similar materials, snugly tied to her waist. She was a gatherer indeed.

Fascinating, Dahj thought. No one recommended tying pouches to my belt! Wonder what they carry.

“I wanted to wish you the warmest welcome and offer to go on a gathering mission with you. I excel at grabbing usable items quickly and can scale a tree in the blink of an eye!” Festelda said as she grabbed one of his fingers to shake. The size of their hands contrasted too greatly for a traditional handshake.

“You know what… sure!” Dahj accepted. His desire to get some fresh air was growing, and it probably wouldn't hurt to get to know the land a little better. Who better to learn from than a species that excels in stealth, snatching, and climbing? Climbing, he thought. I hope she doesn’t expect me to scale a tree.

“Great, I’m going to pay Parsun a visit and inquire about a list of desired products to refer to in the field. When you're ready, I’ll meet you in the Landing Room.” Flashing a broad smile, Festelda revealed two long canines.

The sight of the sharp teeth made Dahj wince, which he was careful not to show.

Thumbs and canines? Dahj’s hands trembled. Was this creature really to be trusted? She seemed kind, but exhibited obvious predatorial characteristics.

She wouldn’t be allowed in the Homestead if she has killed in the past, right? Dahj questioned as he made his way to Brenloru’s quarters. He wasn’t going anywhere without consulting him first – especially outside in the open with a predator.

Rounding a corner, he nearly ran directly into the moose.

“Woah! Nice tools! Did you –” Brenloru asked the frantic bison.

“I think I’m about to be trapped,” Dahj interrupted.

“Trapped? By who? Dahj I seriously doubt that… no predator has access to this area,” Brenloru assured calmly. Brenloru had expected this; Dahj’s emotions were clearly fried after all the information he had been buried under.

“A raccoon. Her fur was lighter in tone than average. She seemed to know me? Invited me outside the Homestead to gather consumables. I said I would go,” Dahj said, steadying his breathing.

“Oh!” Brenloru exclaimed with a laugh. “Little Festelda? She wouldn’t hurt a chipmunk! No no no, she… has quite a colorful history. Perhaps she will tell you sometime.”

“Will you come with us?”

“Sure! Why not. I could use a restock on my herbs.” Brenloru patted his waist to check if his mortar and pedestal was still in his possession. “I’m sure you will warm up to Festelda quickly, Dahj. She has a lot of potential here in the Homestead and possibly on our mission. She’s been here for years. Deeply passionate about the preservation of the herbivore’s territory and success in this region.”

“Does she know about the Designer?”

“Of course! She has met with him multiple times regarding the requirements for the title of ‘Guardian’. The first resident I have met with such tenacity for earning the responsibilities of the rank. Yet, surprisingly, nature has yet to choose her.” Brenloru grabbed the bison’s hunch to lead him towards the Landing Room with reassurance.

“You know what, here,” Brenloru removed a pouch from his side. “If we’re going to be gathering, you should probably have something to carry your goods in!”

Dahj thanked him for the generous donation, but was embarrassed to encounter the difficulty of tying it to his belt. His bumbling fingers already felt numb from being tweaked for hours to construct his tools.

***

Festelda was already waiting in the Landing Room when Dahj arrived. Brenloru followed close behind. “Let me help you with that!” she said, witnessing Dahj experience difficulty in fashioning his pouch to his belt. Her tiny fingers were far more dexterous and quickly wove the belt and bag together.

“It wouldn't hurt to have a third join, and Brenloru had mentioned some herbs he desired for medicinal practice!” Dahj said quickly.

“Sure, hey Bren! I look forward to seeing what you can mix up!” Festelda said.

For gathering trips, Brenloru would bring along a bowl-shaped stone and a small rounded rock he used to grind certain herbs together, causing them to release their medicinal oils. They were then stored together and allowed to blend. Depending on the quantity or mixture of certain herbs, different potencies were achieved. Some combinations were meant for quick spot healing, and others for long term placement on more grievous wounds. The medicinal moose heavily relied on the present state of the land for practice to be successful. Seasonality, regionality, and competition all dictated whether he was going to find the proper combinations of plants – or come home empty handed.

“He could use the practice,” Festelda muttered out of the side of her mouth to Dahj as the moose approached.

Dahj nodded in agreement, gesturing to the pathetic patch that had since withered and died, leaving his wound in a less-than-healed state.

“Ready?” Festelda asked. “Got the list here. Parsun was happy to send out a capable team to do the gathering for him! Looks like we're after some wild root vegetables, tree nuts, and as many edible grasses as we can carry.”

“Well then get your bags and grab a root, raccoon!” Brenloru boasted as he fumbled for his own list.

Dahj wasn't sure if he was ready for the sensation of being sucked through a root again – the thought of whizzing though the dirt gave him motion sickness. After a deep breath, he took a sturdy step towards a root that seemed to be on the same path as the one Brenloru had taken. The shriveled root lazily hung from eroding dirt. He lifted his hand and squeezed the root with a wince.

Moments later, he found himself on a familiar cliff face. His eyes squinted; sensitive to the enhanced sunlight reflecting off the snow-dusted valley below and cooler temperatures. The cold, dry air stung his nose and throat, causing him to cough deeply twice moments after landing.

Luckily, they were not too deep into the frigid season yet, but this would probably be one of the last trips before it became too dangerous to exit the Homestead frequently. During the winter, temperatures of this region would drop well below freezing, and the ground would be covered in a deep layer of snow reinforced by a top layer of ice. Dahj’s species, the bison, would eat as much as possible during the fall to store body fat necessary for surviving the harsh winters. To retrieve grass from under the deep layer of snow would cost their bodies more energy than they would gain.

Dahj loved the bite of the crisp morning air, just on the brink of winter. There was always a hint of non-existent smoke in the air. Calls of birds no longer broke the silence, as they had recently headed south. The only white noise was the occasional sharp whisper of the wind. If only my family could see me now. They would call me spoiled! he thought.

“I’m heading to the tree line, over there. I think I’ll have luck with the nuts I'm looking for,” Festelda said. Her teeth had begun to chatter in the cold.

“I need to find small bodies of standing water that host the herbs I require… hopefully the frost hasn't killed them off already,” Brenloru grunted, descending the hill behind them.

Well I guess the only other thing is the grasses… Dahj realized. How ironic – the one thing I've been harvesting my entire life… Well, I guess it will give me a chance to try my new hatchet and pouches.

Dahj commenced a rotation of harvesting. Working left to right, top to bottom, he would grab handfuls of grass, slice them at the stalks, and stack them neatly in the woven bag at his side with maximum efficiency. His young fingers grew colder with each snow-coated handful of grass. The gruesome nails collected dirt between them and his leathery skin. Moving them was becoming difficult in the cold, but it was good practice for dexterity of his new hands.

Shaking his head, he wished he could just bite the grass rather than use this silly tool. I don’t think anyone will want pre-chewed, slobber-covered dinner, though, he thought, and took another swing at the stalks.

As his bag mounded with grasses of equal length, his chore was abruptly interrupted by a loud snarl from his right. Before he could turn, teeth sunk into his wrist. He roared in pain as the impact of the lunging wolf knocked the hatchet from his hand. Blood spurted from the puncture wounds, splattering across the pristine snow. The wolf yanked on the hand it had clasped onto, causing the wound to open further.

The predator had successfully prowled through the deep blanket of snow and matted grasses to catch his prey by surprise. Clumps of ice clung to the hunter’s belly from laying down multiple times during his approach.

“Another one?!” Dahj cried. Blood spurted from the bison’s palm. That raccoon! I knew it! “She sent you, didn’t she!” he shouted, retrieving his bludgeon from his hip belt. Swinging before it, the weapon successfully connected with the side of the wolf’s head with a dull crack. The reverberation sent through the hilt of the weapon startled Dahj, causing him to drop it. Initial pity for the animal was quickly overridden by survival instincts.

Dazed and yelping, the wolf staggered before Dahj, teeth still bared. Down to one weapon remaining, Dahj reached for the long, pointed spear on his back to finish the aggressive beast. Before he could, the predator found stamina for a second assault. Planting its feet, it took a running start, kicking rocks and dirt behind him as his feet dug into the frosted soil.

Dahj braced himself, tip of the spear extended. The beast lunged, and Dahj hesitated for a moment too long. Before he could blink, the predator was on top of him. Falling to his back forced the air from Dahj’s lungs. He couldn’t tell if the spear had pierced flesh, yet it had been knocked from his hands by force.

Now pinned to the ground, Dahj’s injured hand laid useless in the dirt next to him as he used his other to hold the animal back by the throat. Barking and snapping its teeth, the wolf tried desperately to grab a hold of Dahj's face. As Dahj choked the beast, he felt a gripping sensation surrounding his injured hand. The tall grasses he had fallen into were slowly wrapping around his pathetic extremity like gauze. It felt like the grasses were trying to disable him; tie him to the ground and render his already-wounded limb completely useless – then he remembered the plants that had blanketed him during his first nights in the forest.

“The land will assist you in your time of need,” the Designer's voice echoed through his head. He just needed to hold on for a moment longer. Numbness spread from the opened bite wound throughout his hand. The bandage had dulled the pain, replacing it with confidence. Hemorrhaging blood quickly slowed to a trickle as it cooled and became sticky in the frigid air. Finally, after tying themselves into a tight knot, the grasses finished wrapping themselves around Dahj's hand.

The moment the bandage had completed itself, stones of various sizes were pulled to the padded fist, as if magnetized. Now armed with a fist of rock, Dahj turned back to the wolf. Anger and aggression filled the wolf’s eyes; influenced by an unrelenting hunger for flesh, it would stop at nothing to hear the cracking of bone and taste blood. Dahj was witnessing a deeply-seated possession that controlled the wolf from within.

Dahj mustered every ouch of strength he had left and concentrated it behind his fist of stone. With a loud shout and a solid right hood, he swung the sturdy fist and clobbered the side of the wolf’s head. The dog went limp with a sharp yelp and dropped to its side. Blood trickled from its ear and stained the snow it had fallen on. The side of its torso was no longer rising. Its ribcage protruded next to a concave stomach.

With the assistance of his spear, Dahj stood, breathing heavily. The stones surrounding his fist crumbled lightly as it reduced itself to rubble and fell to the ground, pebble by pebble like dripping water. The plant-based bandage remained tightly bound to his hand, shimmering in the sunlight as its healing properties continued to mend the bite wound.

As Dahj scanned the surrounding valley to get his bearings, he locked eyes with another wolf that had shrouded itself in the shadows of a tree line. The wolf bared its teeth with a low growl as it decided to become the wounded bison’s second contender.

Before it had the chance to leap at Dahj, Festelda dropped from the lowest branch of the tree closest to the wolf. With a flying leap and a loud cry, she sank two daggers, made of wooden hilts and mountain lion teeth into the back of the wolf. The wolf let out a loud yelp and turned his head to snap at the source of the sudden pain. Still mounted on the spinning wolf, Festelda tightened her grip on the hilts and firmly pulled downwards, opening the wounds further.

The wolf’s coat slowly soaked red with blood as Festelda removed the daggers from the disabled beast with a quick jerk. She leapt from his back and landed in the frosted grasses with a light crunch. Eyes locked on the raccoon, the wolf stumbled, growling, before falling limp.

Dahj let out a heavy sigh and dropped to his knees, nursing his wounded hand.

“Did you see me? Did you see me, Dahj?” Festelda asked excitedly.

“Heh. Yea, I did. You really stuck him,” Dahj replied through gritted teeth.

“No, I mean before. When I was on my way to the wolf. Did you see me? I've been working on my sneak attacks.” She smiled and winked at Dahj.

Brenloru approached from behind Dahj and helped him to his feet.

“Oh, well in that case…” he said, offering his good hand to Brenloru, “No, I didn’t. You did great, Fes.”

“Another wolf pack, huh?” Brenloru asked as he scanned the horizon for any signs of additional beasts approaching. “They are definitely drawn to you.”

“Suppose so.” Dahj inspected the bandage tied snugly around his hand. He could already feel the wound beneath the wrap beginning to close. Blood flow had stopped all together as the grass gauze reabsorbed blood that had been lost.

“Let me see that.” Brenloru grabbed the wounded hand.

Dahj hissed. “Watch it!”

“Hmm. Just reeds and some basic grasses. Yet, they shimmer vibrantly. Interesting,” the moose noted as he turned the hand.

“You get hurt and he uses it as a basic lesson for himself,” Festelda said sarcastically.

“The wolves – where did they come from? Were there more?” Brenloru asked.

“No idea. Had my head down gathering… gah! The food!” Chilled, severed grasses of equal length were scattered across the thin blanket of snow, disrupted by frantic footsteps of three separate animals. They had been thrown from his pouch during the tussle.

“I’ll gather those. You rest,” Festelda insisted, collecting Dahj’s personal effects.

“Let’s head back to the tree and I’ll heal that right up,” Brenloru promised.

“Doubt it,” Festelda teased, walking beside the moose. She nudged his leg with her elbow.

“Sorry for doubting you, raccoon.” Dahj mumbled under his breath as he allowed Brenloru and Festelda to gain distance, moving towards the Homestead. He rubbed the hand that had been encased in rocks while at the raccoon.