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In her incorporeal form, Lindi grimaced deeply and closed her eyes at the gruesome scene before her. Holding her baby in her crossed arms, who was still dark and featureless besides their quills, they remained asleep despite all the blood and fighting.

Lindi had never been more thankful that turning into her Phantom form always put them to sleep when they were an infant. She didn’t need them joining the fray and getting hurt.

Although he was much thinner than the roaring adult brown bear, Nathair fought it off all by himself with utter tenacity.

He was barely strong enough to lean back much lower than normal on his tail to match its nearly six-foot height, but he held back its swiping paws by swiftly catching them.

Every movement he made was jarring and quick, like a striking snake.

When Nathair gave a strong push, it landed on its side with a loud thud against the dirt and gnarly roots. He charged while it was down with a resonating hiss that would have set Lindi’s teeth on edge, if she wasn’t incorporeal.

Just as Nathair went to lance it with his venomous fangs, it managed to smack him across the face with its meaty paw.

His head snapped to the side under its formidable power.

With his orbs long ago red from being swept into the fury of bloodlust, they brightened in their hue, and Nathair roared, causing whatever wildlife remained to scatter.

He tackled it around the shoulders to smash its back into a nearby tree, causing leaves to detach and flutter around them.

The bear bit into his shoulder with ferocious stubbornness, but it was no match for Nathair’s razor-sharp claws gouging down its back. Its fangs parted with a bellowing roar, giving him time to strike it around the neck with his fangs.

The injected venom was utterly pointless when he proceeded to rip its throat out, causing blood to splatter against the patches of tall grass stalks nearby.

There was no point in Lindi intervening, even though she’d wanted to.

Not only did she want to protect her child, who had flaring claw wounds going over his shoulder and opposing side, but the bear hadn’t deserved the violence, nor death.

It was merely protecting its territory, as Nathair did for his lake each night.

He was the trespasser.

She peeked at its genitals from a distance, making sure it wasn’t a female and could have a cub nearby. It’s a male, her mind registered with relief.

She may have tried to raise an orphaned cub until it was old enough to be on its own, otherwise. Which would have been a struggle with the baby in her arms.

Remaining in the form that Nathair wouldn’t be able to sense as he ate, Lindi thought back on the last few days.

When Nathair had left his lake, she had ended up following since she was curious about his intentions.

Being summer, the land was hot, the air balmy, and he seemed restless to move.

He looked over his shoulder often to check on her, and she had no idea if it was because he didn’t like being followed or if he wanted her to come.

He never tried to stop her, though.

He’d initially begun to travel with his sibling attached to him, but she doubted he’d known that.

They’d been asleep at the time, and they were scentless and light, often clinging to his scales like they’d passed out while playing.

Sometimes she didn’t feel them on her, although she was hyperaware when they moved for those very same reasons.

After she stopped him and removed his sibling from his scales, Nathair had set off with Lindi quickly following.

When he revealed a semi-safe path to climb the cliff wall, Lindi floated up it in her Phantom form.

Since then, he hunted while she took the opportunity to teach him what everything was called.

Walking ahead of him in his predicted path, she’d grab a leaf and relay its name before going to a flower or touching a tree branch.

If he diverted in a new direction, perhaps annoyed with her company, she just inserted herself into his line of sight and continued. This was how she’d been teaching him for the past few weeks.

He still said little more than greetings, and never attempted a proper conversation.

Yet his orbs were always dark yellow, and sometimes she’d find him staring at her when she spoke.

She tried to teach him how to count, and on more than one occasion, he’d slyly – as if trying to hide it – use his fingers to mimic her.

At his lake, she’d managed to obtain silent permission to sit a little closer, and she’d drawn in the dirt more complex things. The sun and moon and how he could use them to count the months passing. How seasons worked. She’d also drawn animals and had relayed their names.

Even if it didn’t seem like it, he was always listening, watching, learning.

She had no idea how much he actually retained.

He mostly mimicked, so even if he learned what something was, she doubted he understood any significance regarding it.

He didn’t appear to be intelligent. More like a creature that could learn tricks; like a bird that could learn to talk by copying sounds but not truly communicate.

But she intended for all her efforts to be foundations for later. So when he gained more humanity – to her disgruntled complaint – all the pieces would eventually come together.

Lindi had no idea how many humans he’d eaten, but there were many for him to gorge on in the vast land of Austrális.

She just hoped he never came across a town full of them.

If he could take down a bear relatively easily, she didn’t want to know how many people he could slaughter before needing to flee.

That’s if he fled at all. He could easily take on an entire town and decimate its population throughout the course of the night and day. Unlike Demons who would need to escape the sun’s touch.

When Nathair nearly decapitated the bear, Lindi grimaced in disgust, only to stare at its furry head for a long while. Then she eventually dropped her gaze to the child lying limp over her folded arms.

Well... I did say I wanted to give them a predator skull. A bear was pretty formidable. And it is about time I start letting them grow.

Since her children didn’t seem to feel hunger, even after many months of not eating, she didn’t need to feed them. She could pick and choose when it suited her, or when opportunities arose.

With a nod and her arms tightening, Lindi decided.

She backed away from Nathair and his large meal until she figured it would be safe. Then she turned physical.

The child in her arms immediately went berserk.

They squirmed, twisted, and tried everything in their might to get to the source of blood permeating the air.

Heat surrounded her from the scorching air, causing sweat to trickle down the back of her neck and hairline.

She struggled with them until she had a strong grip on their barking, snarling body.

With his side facing them, Nathair paused and gave a wet growl as his snout remained buried in bloodied meat.

She gulped when his orbs seemed to flare an even brighter red.

Lindi stepped out of his line of sight and took a few more steps back until he stopped making a noise of aggression and resumed his meal.

Then she sent out a tentacle of black sand and wrapped it around the bear’s furry snout. Inch by inch, she slowly shifted it away from Nathair, trying not to alert him to what she was doing, until it was at her feet.

She placed her baby on the ground, and they scampered to it with quick little feet and hands. Their fangs were surprisingly sharp and strong as they destroyed the bone bit by bit. They happily smacked their maw after each bite, regardless of it being mainly bone.

Wanting to give them something meatier, she also stole a back leg from Nathair when he pushed his meal around and exposed its rump to her.

He never noticed. Then again, he seemed more interested in its middle than its limbs.

She gave the leg to the baby at her feet, whose white skull was already starting to form through the crown of their head.

They both managed to finish their meals at relatively the same time, preventing any need for her to intervene if one wanted what the other had.

Nathair’s length had grown exponentially, but he didn’t seem much thicker than before. The child at her feet, on the other hand, now looked like a small toddler – perhaps no larger than a one-year-old.

Along with their bear skull, little pawed feet had developed, with cute claws to match them.

She chuckled when they struggled to pick up their heavy skull after it drooped to the left, then they overcompensated and it fell to the other side, only for it to thump backwards on the ground. With their legs and arms flailing in the air, they rolled back, and she crouched down to help.

Supporting the base of their new skull, she picked them up, and they squealed in delight, their hands waving through the air to grab onto something.

“I think I already have a name for you,” she said, when they managed to grab a handful of glossy curls in their right fist. “How about Orson, my little bear cub?”

Her eyes softened as a small, loving smile curled her lips. It’s the name my father would have given his son, if he’d been presented with the opportunity.

A strong, sturdy name for someone treasured.

She thought it was fitting, and a wonderful way to honour someone she missed dearly.