>The forest has an odd lull to it
>No birds chirping
>No squirrels skittering
>No bugs screaming
>Even the wind seems dead
>But at least you're away from goddamn Aum Shinrikyo
>You've been walking for a about an hour
>Ought to be a few miles away by now
>Maybe a little less on these stubby little legs
>Your stomach grumbles
>Did you even eat last night?
>No, you didn't
>Probably for the best, who knows what horrors they laced those onions with

>You've come across a small clearing and
>O shit, is that a potato plant?
>You hurriedly dig at the small white flower, pulling it out when the dirt is loose enough
>Score
>They're tiny little bastards, but they're edible
>Probably
>Looks kinda like a peanut crossed with a tomato
>You bite a single spud directly from the root
>Tastes like sand

>The potatoes weren't very filling
>And you don't have any water to wash the sandy taste out
>It's been a few hours and the flavor still lingers
>It's infuriating
>At least with rotten dumpster food you get that special sourness you can't get anywhere else
>You don't even mind the food poisoning anymore
>Hell, at times the moldy fruit even tastes better than otherwise
>But this
>This is terrible
>Not even accented by anything, like a hint of body odor or the methane of rat droppings
>It's just straight up sand
>Maybe that's what muslims have to deal with
>Maybe that's why they're always getting into trouble
>You'd be pretty angry, too, if you had to deal with this all the time
>Something squirms underneath your foot
>You yelp and leap off, expecting to have crushed a cockroach or stepped on a snake
>But nothing seems to be there
>You eye it for a long time, to no avail
>This particular patch of ground does seem a bit higher than the surrounding forest floor, though
>Inching closer, you cautiously nudge the pile of leaves and sticks that cover the topsoil
>"Who?"
>Your heart sinks and you are frozen in fear
>"Mghmm... mhmm..."
>The leaves bulge and writhe as the figure underneath reveals itself
>"Eugh... who's that?"
>Selkie yawns before you, simultaneously stretching out a foreleg and scratching the back of his head
>You clutch your chest as you let go of breath you didn't even know you were holding
>He stares with a sluggish intensity at the surrounding foliage, drinking in every last angle and curve
>His gaze moves from the leaves to your hooves, slowly traveling up to your eyes and locking you in glaring scrutiny
>His eyes soften and he chuckles lightly
"Uh, sorry about stepping on you and stuff, Iyuh, I didn't see you there..."
>He chuckles again
>"Pshhh... what?"
>He licks his lips, dry and cracked and covered in humus
>The dirt seems to somewhat surprise him, and he curiously crunches on the particles with an open mouth
>Satisfied, he wipes his tongue off on his foreleg, unaware of its own filthiness
>Somewhere distant a bird is chirping
>You take a deep breath as your heart finally settles
"So.... What's with the dirt nap?"
>As the words leave your mouth you become suddenly aware of how suspicious this is
>He could easily be some kind of skinwalker or wendigo or some other native american bullshit
>Lying in wait for a hapless, unknowing victim
>Your heart flutters to life
>He opens his mouth halfway, stops, closes it, and sniffs the air
>It must have killed the real Selkie and is just now getting acquainted with its new body!
>You tense up, your mind racing with action plans
>"Where's... uhhh...-"
>He bites his lip and sucks in a sharp breath
>You begin to slowly back away, feeling the ground for a rock or a thick branch, something to use as a weapon
>"What did... where did... uhhhhhhhm..."
>You lock your grasp on something hard, lumpy and round, presumably a rock
>"Do you know... where... Sssss-.... Stumps? Stumpy... Stump-"
>With lightning speed, you bring up your foreleg and sling the rock at DoppelSelkie's forehead
>You weren't really aiming, though, you just had an idea of where you wanted your projectile to go and your body went on automatic
>Miraculously, it slams right smack in between his eyes, meeting the flesh with a dull crack
>He falls backwards, letting out a single grunt as he hit the ground
>You crouch down for a moment, ready to punce if the monster had any ideas about getting back up
>Does this count as interacting?
>Satan said not to interact with spirits, right?
>Are monsters spirits?
>But he also said not to die, so does defending yourself from spirits count as not dying, or interacting?
>DoppelSelkie lets out a quiet groan
>You begin to inch closer to the writhing body
>You've never seen a dead skinwalker
>You might be the first person to do so!
>Definitely the first to kill one
>Could their collective secret weakness be rocks?
>It appears so, as the image of Selkie does little but slowly squirm and groan
>There's a sizable gash on his forehead, slowly oozing blood over his eyes and down the side of his face
>The side of /its/ face
>Skinwalkers have no real gender
>As you come into its field of view, it regards you with pained confusion
>Yeah, you sure got the jump on this fucker
>But alas, it could be a farce
>It's entirely possible that he's...
>That it's taking advantage of your sudden overwhelming victory
>Waiting to jump the minute you let your guard down
>Wearing your skin like a latex suit
>That would be just like a skinwalker, employing the ol' switcharoo
>Such a cowardly tactic
>But what matches cowardice, other than overwhelming cowardice?
>It blinks at you and you take off without further thought

>It's a lot easier to celebrate your victory with the skinwalker far behind you
>Now that it's not staring you in the eyes, you swell with pride at having bested such a terrifying creature
>Actually, if a skinwalker could be brought down with a measly stone, was it really that terrifying?
>Surely your fear all these years must have been irrational
>Native Americans are pussies
>You've noticed that your gait has turned from its typical skulk into a confident trot
>In fact, you've felt this overwhelming euphoria ever since the encounter
>How quickly in this childish body you have overcome a beast of myth hundreds of years old
>You can't stop replaying the last moments in your mind
>The fear in its eyes as you sized up your prize
>And you can't help but feel ashamed for leaving it alive like that
>No doubt it will die helpess and pathetic, if not from exposure or hunger then picked apart by woodland scavengers
>Perhaps other skinwalkers
>How much better would it have felt to end it yourself?
>And how would roasted skinwalker taste?
>You aren't sure how you'd start a fire, having never done so without matches or a lighter
>But the flesh of an ultimate predator shouldn't carry too much in the way of diseases
>And if it does, then who's to say Satan wouldn't fix you up with magic?
>He did seem fairly interested in your survival
>Unless that was a trick so you would kill yourself with your own hubris
>Careful, Icarus
>Maybe you should just stick to foraging