The little creature looked reminiscent of a stick bug, but this was no stick bug. Stick bugs didn’t typically speak. And Kolbjorn was sure he wasn’t imagining the source of the grumbly muttering.
How intriguing, and rather wonderful. Was this a fellow shapeshifter mutant, or perhaps an alien or otherwise normally hidden species? Growing up, Kolbjorn wouldn’t have been so quick to jump to alien as a probable consideration. Perhaps, in the imaginative wonderings of his childhood, he’d contemplated the idea of beings from outer space, but now there was certain knowledge of their existence, and their ability to visit. The idea didn’t seem quite so far fetched.
The bear shook his big furry head, as the creature pleaded with him, an attempt to reassure the other that he meant no harm.
His mouth opened slightly in bemusement with the following questions, blue eyes squinting in the corners with humour, as the little fellow proceeded to chatter at about a million miles per hour. Something as reminiscent to laughter as a bear could manage, heaved from his throat. Stringy indeed. This was certainly not an occurrence he’d anticipated upon entering the forest trail this morning. He raised the muscles above his eyes, his bear brows, if you will, at the little creature, giving him a look that as best as he could, tried to ask him to stay put a moment. And then he took a couple steps off the path, still mostly in sight, but stood partially behind a narrow tree. Should do the trick for some privacy at least.
Kolbjorn tossed his great head back and fourth, the motion traveling down into his shoulders and then the rest of his body joined the shimmy. The bear’s form shifted. His muzzle shortened, frame lifting up onto his back legs as his fur shrunk away, human features coming into view within seconds.
Brrr. He’d forgotten to account for how chilly it was without his fur coat. This was a worthy cause, however. Hopefully the little guy hadn’t run off.
Goosebumps raised upon his skin, and he shivered, muscles stiff in the chill of the air. Shrugging the backpack off of his shoulders, Kolbjorn leaned out from behind the tree, giving the little leafling a playful wave with his free hand, before diving into the bag with vigour. Having fished out the basic makings of a proper outfit, including a pair of warm trousers and his wool bowling sweater, the man stepped out from behind the tree, and padded back over to the trail, crouching with popping knees, in front of the little being. “Hello there Jix, I’m Kolbjorn.”
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