Life for Pataia the red-squirrel was not very kind. This troubled young-adult had a youth far from perfect. He came from a broken home, growing up alone with his father after his mother committed suicide in his early childhood. He lived near an abundance of cheap and accessible vices, and existed purely in a state of perpetual poverty.

With so few ways to entertain himself other than get into trouble, he was a bit of a delinquent as a teen. So much so that by the time he’d reached the age of ascension at bout 16, he’d already given into drinking and drugs as they where so readily available and all too often a common vice for youth in these situations. It was about three years later though, that he was finally given an ultimatum by his father.

His choice was to either be taken back to the reservation in hopes to clean up his act, and hopefully change his ways for the better. Or his only other option was to be disowned by his father, and banished from his house forever. Forced to start his own life as the broken mess he was.

He was not at all happy about the ultimatum given by his father. And he begrudged him greatly for it. So much so that on leaving the house that day he punched his father’s mailbox clean off of its post and kicked down the old flimsy front gate on his way to the cab. His father was unphased by all of this at this point though. And so went back inside and started praying to the spirits of his people for guidance for his wayward son. 

His father was a good man, maybe not so great with money, and dint have the best job, but he tried for his son. And if anything his father blamed himself for letting him go so long past the normal age at which young men normally became full men in his culture and undertook their right of passage. Most did it at the age of 15 or 16, but his son was almost 20 and still had never become a man in his people’s eyes.

Pataia was not a fan of his native heritage. He was no believer in spirits, or ancient beings. He had no place in his heart or mind for the spiritual ways of his father and his people. In fact, He loathed them. He blamed them for his mother’s death as she believed she was being called to the spirit world by voices in her head. And still having to suffer through having been told by the elders how to act and how to grow up. Only to see even the most devout of his people still face the harshest of lives. He even hated his name as it was from his heritage, instead going by Patch or Pete depending on who asked. 

Once he arrived at the reservation he was led to a room in the great hall of his elders and in there was nothing but a metal bed with a paper thin mattress on it and a small wardrobe to hang his clothes. And for the next two months, his life would consist of training and preparation for the third month. The third month being a journey he would be forced to take alone deep into the wilderness where he would be expected to survive for a full month on his own with nothing to his name but a single knife. And when he emerged from the forest he would be a man in the eyes of his people. Born again to them.

The first month for him was hell, being forced to go sober on all of his vices at once. No booze, not a drop, no pills, not a pop. And being kept with such a close eye on him he felt he was in prison more than any kind of rehabilitation. On top of this all, it was the month they chose to teach him the more spiritual side of the endeavor. 

Speaking to him of the many spirits and greater beings that lived within the natural places of the world. Speaking of how they would often test people like him in hardship, would require sacrifice, and would ultimately reward those who heeded their wisdom.But perhaps that strict hand was what he needed. Though he didn't take to the spiritual aspect particularly well, he did seem to find some peace in being clean, even for such a short time as it was.

That first month went, and with it went some of his hatred. He was feeling better, able to finally feel more than just rage and anger again, and started to actually put some thought towards his future. Even if that still included booze and drugs in his simple mind still yet.

	The second month, his body now mostly cleansed of his old vices, was focused much more strictly on how to take care of himself. From how to use ash to clean oneself, physically and spiritually, to more practical and useful skills like finding food and water, learning the plants of the area, and even how to hunt in spite of him and his people preferring to live purely off of the land’s gifts such as fruits, nuts, and roots. 

He was told how to kill cleanly if need be, how to craft a bow and how to fletch arrows so they would fly proper. He learned much he considered useless outside of the next month only committing to memory what he felt he would have to as he was to be pitted against the elements. And with the temperature slowly falling from the summer sliding into fall, his main thought was “well at least I won't be burning up outside all the time.” Instead on how this will affect the plants he could expect to find or the habits of the fauna.

Before he really had time to soak in all the lessons from his month of survival training,  the day came he was to be left alone in the forest. He was to be guided to a chosen place that had everything he would need to survive, but it was up to him to find it, to build shelter, find food, get clean water. 

He left early one morning with a group of 2 of the elders and another young man who was to take the same journey as him at a different spot in the wilderness. The group of male squirrels walked deep into that forest, spotting game, and notable resources all along the way. But Pataia was not in the least bit concerned with this. As unbeknownst to him, when they said they were leaving him with nothing but a knife, they indeed meant nothing. All 4 men were stripped nude before they set off, a simple knife hanging from his neck by a leather necklace, and his tail coiled around his hips to keep him decent.

And after nearly a full day’s walk, from sun up, to late afternoon, they came to a clearing in the woods, one that clearly had been a site used by past participants as it was covered in smooth fresh dirt, and seemed freshly cleared of all of the accomplishments of the last soul who stayed here for their trial.

	One elder walked further in with the other recruit taking him to another site not too far away. The older of the elders stayed with Pataia for the moment and started using some of the ash left behind to bless this site. But Pataia was having none of it. 

“Look, just get the hell out of here old man. The sooner I'm done with this the better so I can go back and tell my old man to stick it where the sun doesn't shine.” The elder stopped his whispered chanting and blessing of the site, turning and looking back at the disrespectful young squirrel. “The spirits will be angered if you take from this land without first offering up your thanks and asking forgiveness. We must cleanse this site from the las-” he was cut off by the ever rude Pataia shouting at him “Shut the fuck up, and get the fuck out! I don't need any help from some made up spirits, I just need to go find the stream so I can start looking for some fish, I'm freaking starving!”

The elder dropped the ash where he stood, not finishing his prayer, not cleansing this land, not asking for forgiveness for taking from it, and not giving thanks for its abundance. Instead he simply left that young man there, not speaking another word to him, knowing that in time he would come to respect the land. By love or by force.

Now alone Pataia set out to do just what he wanted to, he started by unfurling his tail from his hips, no longer feeling he had to hide himself from the old men and the other students of sorts. He also needed its balance as he climbed the tallest tree in the camp with ease given his species. Once at the top, soon spying just the thing he wanted to see, the river that snaked through the land hardly half a mile away across a nearby meadow. He slid down that tree leaving deep claw marks all the way up and down it as he did so, not caring about how his marks may scar the tree and cause it to bleed sap needlessly. It was just a tree after all.

This general disrespect of his seemed to pass to all things in nature, the young man seeing it just as exploitable resources, a thing to use for food, shelter, fuel, or the like. Even with plentiful food still on the bushes and  vines of the forest, he set out to make fish his first meal. Simply because he preferred that over ‘scraps of fruit and nuts’. And while eating fish was perfectly fine for his people, he would not be giving the proper thanks, the proper care to them they where owed in accordance with his people's custom. No, in his bitterness to prove he didn't need their ways, he ended up simply tossing the fish up onto the bank where they would slowly suffocate rather than using his knife to end them quickly.

Pataia was not normally this bad of a person, not normally this bitter. But without his vices, and being stuck out here alone, he was more than a little angry with his life. A deep burning hatred filled his gut, and his gut demanded to be filled with fish.

His first night was soon upon him, and thankfully he knew how to make a fire plenty well at this point, as for now he had not even made any shelter and was just grateful the elders had chosen a time when he’d not have to worry too terribly much about rain. He slept beside that fire,using his tail for a blanket as he more or less grumbled and bitched himself to sleep, a belly full of fish being the only thing he considered good about today.

The next day saw him making a simple shelter, some leafy branches overtop of stronger branches that where placed over a shallow hole to keep the ground from stealing the bed’s warmth. And over top of this a simple lean to style shelter facing the fire. He found that the site that was used before was ideal indeed, the ground already soft enough to dig without much effort, the area already clear of flammable things, and it provided enough shade that in the warm sun he was not overly hot.

All in all; he found he was almost enjoying it. And by day’s end he’d made a simple wood fishing gig and had more fish than he could even eat for his second night. He left some of the fish to smoke over the fire while he slept, and was even starting basic plans for the future. By the third night, he’d made a simple bit of clothing out of some of the vines of the land he’d found, and wrapped on dried grass tufts to make coverings for the front and back of it. 

He was alone but having this grass skirt made him feel more civil. He had even more fish now as well, but he’d also started trying to use his spears to get at small game, wanting to fetch himself a rabbit or maybe a bird. But he’d had no luck.

After his first week, he’d almost made himself a bit of a home so he felt. He had simple clothing made from the pelts of rabbits he’d managed to shoot with his bow and arrow, his belly was always full, and he started adorning his leather necklace that held his knife, with the bones and skulls of his kills.

But every step of the way, he ignored the first month of his training. He gave no thanks. Offered no sacrifices of his own to the land. And never, not once asked forgiveness. Something he never did with people, nor nature. He was entirely unrepentant in his ways and seemed bound to not change his views.

Though as lucky as his first week had been. His second week had started poorly. A rain came one night, and quickly proved his little shelter inferior to any form of weather. He’d made no preparation for rain for his fire either, as it soaked it and reduced the fire to nothing but moist ash and coal. And that night, he was beyond frigid, but his stomach was still full, and he had smoked fish with plenty to spare still hanging over the now extinguished campfire.

The second day of his second week however, as he returned with a still living hare he’d captured with a snare trap, he walked back to his camp to find a group of bears, eating his fish, destroying his shelter, and roaring loudly at him. It was all he could do to drop the hare and bolt away, thankfully able to outrun the bears who where much more interested in eating the fish, and the piles of guts he’d carelessly left near his camp.

Worse than this, they would not leave. And seemed to make the camp their own as night once more fell, and he had no shelter, no fire, and no food. He was angry, and cursed the world around him, mocking nature for its cruelty. But in truth, it had simply humbled him as it should have, as this test was designed to do. 

The rules and rituals of his people had a reason. But he chose to ignore these things. And so even still on the fourth night of the second week, he was stuck with nothing but a small fire, unable to get more than a mesly flickering flame going with the freshly moistened wood of the forest floor. And it was all he could do but sit beside it hungry and stare into that dancing fire.

The next morning he awoke to the sounds of wings over head, a flock of birds landing in the nearby trees. Seeing a chance for food, he knocked an arrow, and managed to actually strike a bird, only to have the arrow pierce the bird and pin it to the trunk of the tree high above. And in spite of his species being adept at climbing, he didn't go fetch it. “That stupid thing is too small to fuck with. I’d waste more energy getting up there than I would cooking it... Ugh... time to go fishing again, I guess...”

And so he left the dead bird there; to rot. To have died for no reason, to have not been put to use, nor to rest. And so his luck went with that bird it seemed. His luck going even more rotten. As for today no fish came to the river again, none to be seen where he’d been fishing for the last week and a half. And no game stayed near where he hunted any longer. Even upon returning to his new camp to finally fetch down that bird, rather having it than nothing, it was gone, the bones picked clean by other animals, the arrow still in the tree with naught but a bloody rib cage still blowing in the breeze on it. And so again, he would sleep, hungry.

	It seemed as if the bounty of the woods had dried up along with the rains that first night of the second week. And even now looking for those bushes with berries, looking for the edible roots and leaves, looking for the mushrooms and seeds. He found nothing. 

On the fifth day of the second week he decided to just sleep. Perhaps it was because it was too early for any game, as a lot of it came in the early morning with the sun rise, and went with the late evening’s setting sun. And so he slept that day, hungry, tired, and once more without shelter as he’d been hoping to return to his camp, but even now, the bears still found it a better spot for themselves.

The young squirrel overslept as one can tend to do without any way to set an alarm. And only awoke after night had fallen. But thankfully enough the moon was beautiful, casting much light across the land as it was near full. It was a perfect time to hunt night game. For the first few hours he skulked around in the dark, seeing much of nothing moving but him and the plants with the gentle night’s breeze, and the mist that slowly swirled and filled the land from the fields of grass and bodies of water.

It was then that he noticed a figure in the dark; about 50 foot ahead. Standing there tall, imposing, and backlit by the moon. He realized at one glance, it was a majestic deer, standing in the meadow, with its massive horned head down in the grass grazing. 

Silent as he could be, he knocked his bow and slowly stood up from the grass to get a better shot. And as he loose his arrow, he saw just what he’d hoped to see. The arrow flew true! And with a hearty *Thump!* came to a stop all at once in the side of that deer! The young man wanted to jump up and down, to celebrate hitting the deer. 

But the deer didn't move. 
It simply stood there rather than falling where it stood, or even running away. 

Something was deeply wrong.

He noticed the head of the deer pull up from the grass, and he saw now the entrails that dangled from it’s mouth, saw the deep glowing eyes of a spectral whitish blue, and saw this... thing lock its gaze on him. His heart was in his throat, he was frozen in fear, unable to think to draw another arrow, not that it would have done him any good. He was entirely unable to move, as the terror of what stood before him had seized him wholly. He looked to where the creature’s head had been and saw one of the bears that had been plaguing him all along. And he saw the steam rising from the fresh kill spilled innards.

The deer-shaped creature let out a deafening howl, a bellowing of otherworldly sounds. A sound so akin to the rabbits he’d killed, a shrill dying screech, but with such an intense ferocity. And it was then that Pataia knew he had to escape; but how?

All at once the beast turned its body to face him and started to charge head long at him from those all too short 50 or so feet away. And without hesitation Pataia turned and ran faster than he ever had in his life. He ran back towards the treeline, going back in the direction to his camp, seeing the dimly sputtering fire far off in the distance by the river. 

Once in the treeline, instinct compelled him; commanded him to climb and so he did. Not only did he climb the nearest tree, but he soon started leaping between their tops, all the while he heard the screaming below, the thundering stomps of hooves that sounded like boulders falling into mud from a cliffside. And all along was his heart beating loud enough to drown out most of it. His breath coming in large gulped gasps, and being exhaled quickly with terrified noises and whimpers as he leapt from tree to tree.

	When he was about half way back to his camp, he had run out of trees leading the direction he’d wanted to go, and was then stranded. And so there he stayed with the rampaging beast below. It bellowed and screeched beneath him as he looked down in terror, seeing the massive form larger than any deer he’d ever seen, those eyes glowing brightly. 

And he noticed not one,... but two arrows sticking from the creature’s side. One his own, the other seeming to be broken and hanging on by a thread. But there was little more that he could tell aside from that its head was no deer head, but instead a weathered battered old deer skull with the hide shriveled up around it, tattered and ragged as it had been dead some time.

The young man clung to that treetop as the beast stomped and roared at him from below, not leaving him be, but clearly not able to get him either. And it was there that Pataia would stay, terrified beyond all belief at what he was seeing, hearing those noises, and even the smell of rotting death now filling the air. He trembled and quake in that treetop, hugging that trunk for all he was worth, his claws digging deep into the wood while he hung there. And as he clung for dear life, the tree shake and shudder as the beast seemed to ram it’s base, a hard *THUMP!* Heard every now and then as the tree would jolt harshly in his grasp.

Over time the beast seemed to calm, it bellowed less and less, and its cries became less screams and more whales into the night. It eventually started to wander off as the sky grew lighter over time. Nolonger did the young man think he could stay here, but he also didn't know the exact route back to the ancestor’s lodge either. But that didn't matter, all he cared about was getting as far away from here as possible as soon as possible.

It was terror that gripped him still even hours latter as he slowly descended the tree in the early morning light. And he took some time just above where the beast could have reached to study the ground beneath the tree. The prints on the ground looked so abnormal, some being deep rounded craters, others fine piercing jab marks, and clearly at least one of them being a deep imprint of a deer hoof, but those marks where rare.

The base of the tree was covered in scratch marks from the beast, almost as if it had been a deer rutting against it, or perhaps had been trying to push it down. But most disturbing of all was the blood left all over the tree from the horns of the beast, and its blood stained muzzle.

He eventually built up the courage to jump down, and ran as fast as he could back to his camp, grabbing all of his spare arrows, and spears, putting the embers out by kicking dirt on them, and simply following that stream back down south towards where the lodge was. He figured it had to be that way, there was a river near the ancestral lodge, and this likely was the same one! He just had to follow it home.

	He walked with a brisk pace and he could not stop hearing things. Wanting to jump out of his skin any time he saw a rabbit get flushed by his approach, ignoring the jumping fish in the stream, dead set on getting home now above all else. Every now and then he swore he could still hear the beat, the thunderous pounding of its hooves off in the distance, the bellow like that of dying game. It haunted him so deeply. 

Pataia walked, and walked, and walked, far further and far faster than he had before. Though he was now far further than he should have had to go. And it was starting to dawn on him that,... this stream must not be the same one, and that without realizing it, this stream had craned westward a good way and he’d been following it this whole time without thinking of how it snaked and twisted.

Night was quickly coming. And Pataia was still hungry, more tired than he’d ever been in his life, utterly exhausted, and without any time to build shelter, or find food, he would have to sleep again in the open. He only prayed he’d gotten far enough away by now that the beast would not find him. But even so, sleep was hard to find this night, and he spent it at the base of a tree, just in case he heard the beast coming.

But to his horror, he awoke that night, staring face to face with the blood covered, boney muzzle of that beast as it stood over his fire. He saw it now in all of its horror, a twisted mass of writhing roots and vines that had taken residence inside of a decayed deer carcass.

Those two arrows were still in its side as the beast stared down at him. And to his surprise and still yet further terror, instead of shreaking, bellowing, or lungeing at him, it spoke his name as clear as day. “Pataia, Son of Ehnal and Kinta. You have stolen much from this land. Just as those who have come before you stole everything from me.”

The terrified squirrel’s eyes where as wide as dinner plates, and even wrapped in his bushy tail, it was easy to see his whole body quiver  and shake as the undead beast spoke to him. But rather than try and kill him, the beast walked around the fire, one of its front hooves being an actual deer leg, the other a broken leg of a deer stabbing the ground as it walked, one of its rear legs being a mass of roots around a boulder, the other just a twisted tendril of vines and roots. He saw the arrows better now, the older broken one looking almost identical to his own, the other clearly one he’d made and fired at the beast.

The beast spoke as it circled that fire, those feet pounding the earth with each step, the sounds of twisting wood and vines being heard with every move, a creaking or groaning of timber with the soft clatter of bones and stretched rawhide. “Long before you came here another of your kind felled me with an arrow. He offered no thanks, said no prayer for me as he lost me in the woods, and I died. As I lay there rotting, my spirit was not at ease, and from within me grew a seed of hatred that festered and grew into the form you see before you.” 

The beast turned and bellowed at him with that eary sound, and intense ferocity. But also speaking still, clearly not speaking with it’s body, but somehow forcing the words into  his mind. “I was defiled! And so too was this land!”

 The beast stood tall beside that fire, proudly holding its head up as it’s whole body seemed to writhe like coils of a snake, “But now, I seek to protect this world, to protect this land. And so I must do so at any cost. For I am the judge of the living in this place, the conservator of the dead.”

The squirrel had been sitting beside that fire at the base of the tree this whole time, too terrified to move an inch. Also too utterly consumed by that fear to notice that his wrists and ankles where now bound by harsh roots that had come from the ground and twisted around them.

The beast moved to now lay beside the fire, and simply watched as roots crept up from under him and one by one lashed him to the ground, pulling him down no matter how he thrashed or struggled. And struggle Pataia did. He pulled hard with both arms, tried to kick his legs, but it was all for nothing.

“N-No! Please! I, Please! I will complete the rituals, I will put their spirits to rest! I-I, I seek your forgiveness!” Shouted Pataia in fearful protest, unsure of what was going on, fearing that he was to become food for the tree he’d just been leaning against moments ago as its roots pulled him hard to the ground, and even started strangling him a bit.

The beast spoke further and seemed to be much more at ease now as it did so. “No Pataia, you are not truly sorry for the things you have done. Simply sorry you where caught doing them. You spared no suffering for those you consumed to keep yourself alive. And so I shall spare you no suffering for what must be done to you now.”

Those roots not only had his wrists, ankles, and throat, but now where wrapping their way up his legs that he tried to kick and flail to no avail. Soon they where coiling around his chest, and stomach, making it even harder to breathe as their mass pulled down on him with such force.

Then he felt something he didn't expect, a rough dirt covered root wrapping itself around the base of his tail as it snaked its way up under it and now pressed painfully with its jagged surface against his tight virgin ass. Another bark covered root crawling its way up his thigh only to snake itself around his jewels and started to squeeze them firmly, painfully in its coils.

Pataia cried out once more, tears rolling down his cheeks as he started praying for the first time in earnest. “F-forest spirits, I-I come t-to you in this my h-hour of need! Seeking forgiveness and a second chance at my life! I am so scared... I don't want to die here! Please! Forgive me!”

And as the young man shouted into the black starless abyss over head, the sky flooded by the moon’s pale light, he heard the beast speak to him once more. “You will not die here, not tonight. But you will be punished; For forgiveness is hard earned.”

The beast stood up once more, moving so he could look down to the squirrel, and the young man could meet his deathly gaze. “But since I can feel you are sincere in your begging for forgiveness, so I shall show you the mercy you were expected to show, and I shall spare you some of the suffering that you never spared others. May my mercy not be forgotten.”

Those harsh roots at his ass and his jewels pulled away for the moment, and the roots loosened their bindings on him, letting him sit up, but not letting go entirely. And instead, they now picked him up, spreading his legs wide as the beast walked over to him, looking him in his eye with that glowing ball of ethereal white flame. The beast of gnarled roots, decayed flesh, and creeping twisting vines now moved over him, stradling the squirrel’s body.

As much as he thrash and cry out, there was no escaping this now, as the squirrel felt the vines from the decayed ribcage of that deer carcass slowly snake down and cover him, pulling him up and away from those roots as the beast took him into his body of soft fleshy vines. 

Pataia was now entombed within the beast’s chest, legs wrapped up and around its sides. The beast started walking back up stream. Though even within this beast’s grasp, once more the squirrel's bits where teased, and once more his ass felt a rubbing up between his soft cheeks. But it was mercifully soft this time, not the harsh bark of roots and dirt, but leafy vines that slowly pressed themselves up into his body making him let out a muffled scream from within the ribcage of that decayed deer.

The beast picked up speed, soon at a full gallop now on the outside, but the vines within his body where soon penetrating deep into the squirrel’s empty belly. Pataia’s body was so focused on clamping down around the intruding vines from all sides, trying with every inch of his being to force out that soft plant thendral. The horror of the situation grew ten fold for him as he felt his sheath be invaded as well, and soon the tip of his cock felt the coils of a tiny creeping vine slowly slither its way down into his semi-hard cock.

The beast was merciful in that he was not using the harder roots of his body, not using bark covered, or thorny bits of  his twisted plant mass. But there was pain there still, as that tiny thendral coil down into the squirrel’s urethra, and another slither up under that large fluffy tail that fluttered in the breeze between the beast’s hind legs as it ran. The vine in his ass was creeping ever deeper into his stomach, Patia able to feel every twist and turn it made within him, where he soon felt what could only be considered a knot in the vine start to stretch his tight ass before it passed into him, and he could feel this large lump move all the way up into his stomach where it would rest. Only to feel another, then another, then another as the beast lay seeds deep in his belly with its fleshy viney tentacle.

The squirrel was in pain, but oddly aroused by this all, feeling the beast so deeply inside him, and filling him with something he had no clue what. But the insanity of the whole ordeal made him lose focus of reality, slipping almost into a state of shock as he was starting to actually somewhat enjoy this all. The writhing sensation deep in his stomach, the tendral rubbing against his prostate, and the feeling of being full again.

And the beast seemed to count on this, as it was one reason he’d snaked that vine into the cock of the squirrel, and into his seminal tract where it opened up like a catheter for his seed. The tendral in the squirrel’s ass slowly started to withdraw from him as he felt it moving though his insides and constantly rubbing against his prostate even more. He moaned out in that mass of tendrils and gave a few huffed groans as his body convulsed and shot his seed into that small vine that was inside of him.

The squirrel had lost place of where he was, no idea where the running beast was going, no idea where he was being taken or what would happen to him when he got there. But he was entirely powerless to help himself now as is. And at this point too lost inbetween terror and bliss to care. 

Patia felt that vine in his ass withdrawing and soon it reached the last bit of his body, not quite pulling out entirely now, as more of those large lumps passed up through the vine stretching his tailhole, and the squirrel could feel the beast laying those seeds in him. This caused them to rub hard against his prostate, along with the feeling of these seeds filling him up, made him cum again, and once more the vine in his cock soaked up the seed letting not  a drop leave his body that didn't go into the beast first.

It would not have been long before the beast ame to a stop, only then slowly starting to unfurl the soft vines from Pataia’s body and with an unceremonious *Thud!* had dropped him flat on his back, now back at the first campsite that was free of the bears.

The beast’s body withdrew from the squirrel entirely, leaving him a panting shivering mess, his stomach feeling fuller than it ever had as he pant and huff a bit, whimpering as he held his gut and could feel something moving around within him. 

The beast spoke once more “Some of those will leave your body quickly. Others will shrink and in time leave as well. But should you keep disrespecting the land, spreading hate; They will feed from these emotions, grow instead of shrink, and in time you will become just like me. These seeds of hate are your punishment. For if you break your promise to lead a better life, you will suffer, you will die, and you will become another root-beast such as me, little squirrel.”

Leaving the squirrel entirely clueless and in pain there in the dirt of his camp, the beast turned and started to trott away, soon unseen in the darkness that was quickly turning to morning’s light.

The squirrel’s stomach felt full sure, but he was so tired now, and had no fire to warm himself with, the inside of the beast having been so very cold. He stood up and felt the large round seeds shift in his body, making him stay rock hard, his cock fully on display as it peeked out of that grass and reed skirt of his. Further making him thankfully he was alone.

He started this day by taking the ash from the fire pit and finishing the ritual the elder had started, before wiping some of the ash on his cheeks and  then on his chin as a form of marking himself as his tribe did when asking forgiveness of the woods and the spirits. The ashes supposedly cleansing the soul of the crimes.

 Pataia went to each site where he’d slain an animal and sprinkled a pinch of ashes saying simple prayers and giving thanks. He took the bones from his necklace and buried them properly, each one going to its own grave as he no longer knew which belonged to what.

All this day, he felt the seeds wriggling around within him, shifting and grinding against him. The ones in his ass being too large to expel yet and constantly teasing his prostate as they did. It became so bad at one point, that as he drew back his bow to fell a rabbit, the seed rubbed his prostate hard enough to not only make him miss his shot but force him to his knees with a loud moan, only to come face to face with a patch of potato plants. 

Instead of taking the rabbit’s life he took one of his arrows and started to dig up the potatoes, leaving some for the plant to keep, and taking them back to his camp. He roasted up the sweet potatoes and ate his first real food in days. 

Though with that constant teasing in his ass he took some well deserved personal time to stroke that fair size tapered rodent cock of his. He stroked faster and faster, feeling those writhing seeds, balls of soft fleshy vines rubbing against him in all the right ways. As he came, he tossed his head back and moaned out in pure bliss, the feelings of which made his whole body tremble as he inadvertently clamped down harder on those seeds in himself.

By his third day after meeting the beast, one of the seeds had finally been freed of his body, leaving him able to finally think more than just being aroused all the time. And he’d noticed the others had shrunk considerably. He was able to eat normally and still felt those vines within him but they clearly where not nearly as big as they had been. He was keeping to his word and heeding the beast’s warnings, giving thanks, asking forgiveness, and being respectful to nature. And as he did, he was rewarded once more with the plentiful bounties of the land, never going hungry, never needing more than the land could provide.

By the time the end of the month had come, he had passed all but one of those writhing, wriggling, tentacle-covered seeds from his body. He even stayed up the final night, hoping to see the beast again, going to the place he’d first seen them in that grassy meadow between the camp and the river. But instead of seeing the beast on that final night, he instead saw what looked like the figure of a little fawn spring across the meadow gleefully, giving bleats that sounded like tree limbs scraping each other.

It was in this moment that it dawned on him. “What we plant is what we get. Be that joy or hate. These where no seeds of hate. Just seeds.”