#my trail

[knightiajade]

Just realized I started questioning horse in the year of the horse. Is this meant to be

[knightiajade]

Anyone else have any scents that remind them of their alterhumanity/cause shifts?

I have a few. I'm sure a few will agree with me on petrichor, the smell of spring. Everything I correlate to petrichor gives me a certain euphoria--thin rain, the very start of spring, my moss stump, the mourning doves that nested outside of my room, my early years of awakening, a simpler time. And so many more memories I couldn't try fit into words.

Another is water. Water? Water!

The lake water of my grandmas house, giggling when encouraged to really swim instead of doggypaddling; replying "it's on instinct!" Without knowing what I meant yet; the chlorine pool at the barbecue, the drying water on my dog's fur that everyone insisted stinked--while I found a comfort in. The particularly yucky tap water of a vacation home.

I hate the smell of garlic and it always ends up with some deer shift; at one point I started doing it intentionally.

A really specific one of my mothers natural perfumes, and on that same note, any herbal scent. Self explanatory.

Aloe and at a lesser extent watermelon !

I find it a curious topic and would like to hear from folk. Reblog or comment if you have any scents that trigger shifts !!!

[knightiajade]

Personally, documentaries are by far the best way to research an animal. You get to see the animal move, behave, hunt, be hunted, mate, call, all without human interference, and I cannot begin to say how helpful that is; seeing the animal behave. A twenty second video could be of more help than a whole wikipedia page. And minable editing that (usually) isn't trying to make wildlife a drama show for some humans minute attention spans, you're able to really set yourself into the biome. With additional information given by the narrator, of course

But while trying to find out what I am, I realized how under documented some animals are. No wonder we have so many wolves, I found 145 documentaries on them, how many on dholes? Three!

It's getting irksome. I couldn't find a single one on fossas OR Jaguarundi'. Margay? One, which could barely be counted. The AI voice wasn't pleasant to listen to, to put it nicely, but I still thought "I could get over the voice and AI usage I GUESS, it's the only thing I could find, so, as long as it's a good doc-" the script is written by AI. It's clips of many, many, completely different margays--and they threw a ocelot in there too. That's. A different species.

[knightiajade]

I'll lay down and my cat will approach. She is purring already, expecting pets. I do not want to give her pets, for my hands should be hooves, my joints, spaced much different, I feel if it is the one thing keeping me together; ignorance, turning a blind eye to my body. But I can't not pet her.

Neptune knows and has known, since the third day of our five years together, that I am the one who supplies the food, gives the water, gives the best pets, and opens the doors. She associates me with these things.

Even if she doesn't know the meaning of 'man,' she understands that I am much different than her. She understands that I regularly do things she cannot.

It's the same with the dogs, they look to me in the mornings when my mom is working and brother still sleeping, hoping for food. It is a comfort, in an odd way, looking back at it, them begging me for food like a pup, vocalizing and leading and licking, even if I'm not their first choice. But it still brings a sense that I am different than them, I will never truly be their older sister who keeps them quiet in the thicket while mother and father secure the kill of chital, I will always be the strange one.

Even if we do not know how they look on us, whether they believe we are just odd dogs, or a different species but still family, I will always be the strange one.

I can't participate in their games, as much as I would love to, the overwhelm of grief thinks it is much better to watch from afar instead of prove that I'm not able to run with them without tiring or bite them through blankets comfortably with such a short snout or tug a toy the opposite direction with hurting my teeth.

I will always be different, we will never understand eachother truly, for how could you ask a dog to understand a deer or a cat to understand a wild dog hiding in a man's skin?

[knightiajade]

I want hair like yours

Hands like yours

I want fingers that curl in the cold like yours

I want eyes to stare, and to cry

When I'm feeling scared like you

Just like you.

[knightiajade]

I see myself in a different light.

Inspired by this post, which is in turn inspired my this! I couldn't get them to sit a way I liked, but here it is.

[knightiajade]

oohhh . . . Spring has SO sprung

I WILL post about my tail soon. I will I promise . . .

[knightiajade]

I, as an alterhuman, struggle a lot when it comes to eating and drinking, I'm not equipped to eat the way I want, the way I should, the way I subconsciously end up trying to.

I find myself acting like I have an elongated snout, and it angers me when I realize I can't treat my body the way that feels proper. It angers me so much I just end up worse. Too mad to correct the behavior, I huff and try again and again until I cry.

I cry when I drink, forcing my jaw to stay still, my mouth shut, my tongue stuck to the bottom of its lair, trapped and chained in much the same way I feel I am.

It's mad, I can't even drink without crying. It's mad, I remind myself, you've been doing it for years, everyday, you haven't had problems until a few months ago, why can't you just drink?

The next day I'm fine, I still hide from everyone, though, and I chastise myself for it, it would do me better to go outside, or at least chat with my family.

But then the next I am halfway through the corridor that leads to my room, staring at the puddle of water at my feet I made while trying to lap at my cup of water.

The next hour I am outside, tearing a sandwich apart, dreaming of a carcass to eat instead. I am mad when it falls apart and smears my hands, the porch, and plate with mustard. So I try without a plate, behind the garage so only the squirrels are there to see. I am disgusted with myself, I don't want to eat it on the ground, I don't want to lick dirt to get every crumb, I don't want to eat a pebble along with the meat, I don't want to bend over like this, it hurts even though it shouldn't.

I cannot eat like a human, and I cannot eat like a dog.

But still my beastbrain drives my humanform forward, for there is food, where there is food there is strength, where there is strength there is life, where there is food you must eat it, for if you do not, you die.

So in dawn and dusk, before my family rises for the call of light, and after they lay down for the night, I'm careful to shush my cat and persuade her with treats so so does not make a sound, nor follow me down to the kitchen where I eat, and eat, and drink more tears than milk.