Journals of a Transformed Biologist

I dream of a dark forest, filled with horrible creatures and dangerous plants. I dream of emerging from the darkness of a cave, into a single ray of sunshine. I dream of shakily taking my first steps on my newborn legs. I dream of darkness taking over my mind, and my life ending.

I wake to the feeling of the sunlight on my face, slowly filling me with new energy. I open my eye, and see a quilt draped over myself, covering me from the beloved sunlight. Careful not to tear it on any of my barbs, I remove the cloth and fold it, before I place it aside. I stand shakily, and stretch, ready for the new day's challenges. Feeling confident in my balance, I chose to tackle a new challenge; walking. After a moment of thought, I elected to move my right leg first. I carefully lifted from the ground, and proceeded to completely lose stability.

You will need to move faster if you want to keep balance while walking.

I know, Julius. I pull myself from the ground, and stand again. This time, after lifting my front leg, I quickly place it down, slightly further that it was at first. Trying my left, I repeat the movement, and do the same with my tail, now a full two inches ahead of where I was. I take another step, my legs and tail mimicking the first successful step. I continue to practice movement, until I complete the movement more often than not. Soon, falls are rare. With the cautious pride beginning to fill me, I check the sun's position. Three hours seem to have passed, assuming time passes the same pace here as Earth.

I decide that practice is done for the day, and choose to get food. Sunlight's good, but minerals and vitamins are required as well. Staggering inside, I go into the kitchen to locate a snack, ignoring the stares the animals give me  as I pass. The yellow horse is nowhere to be seen. Reaching my goal, I find a basket of apples. Perfect. Grabbing three, I head back out to the courtyard. Taking one of the apples in hand- or claw, as the case may be- I briefly wonder how to eat it without use of my jaw. I take one of my hands, and hold it to my face. Looking closely at the tips of the claws, I notice small barbs on the tips of my fingers.

The barbs are angled to hold things in place if stabbed into something.

I decide to humor Julius by testing his "stabbing" theory. Taking an apple in claw, I plunge the ends of my fingers into the fruit. Nearly instantly, I feel something flowing through my arm. Looking at my carapace, I could see the apple juices traveling trough a system of veins just underneath the clear coating of my shell. Interesting feeding mechanism. Looking back to the apple, I see that it is shriveled and tough. Seems that I can only drain the liquid portion. I finish my snack, and continue pacing until I no longer walk like a drunk penguin, instead reducing my staggering to a drunk human. I always was a fast learner.

Looking to the sky, I estimate it to be dinnertime. I walk back inside, grab an apple, and head back over to my little spot in the courtyard. I lay down by the stream, dipping a claw in and drinking my fill, before draining the apple and tossing the remains onto a small pile, along with what was left of lunch. I take my quilt from where it was folded, and try to get as comfortable as possible. Soon, I dream again.

~~~~~

Over the next few days, then stretching into weeks, I settle into a routine. Wake up, absorb sunlight, exercise, drain lunch, exercise, eat dinner, sleep. I gradually see more and more animals in the courtyard as they seem to get used to my presence. I occasionally get to see a few squirrels, or an otter, but mostly birds. I found that the bone plates on my fave can be very slightly adjusted, and air pushed through to create a whistling noise. I've gotten better at it, and can mimic a few bird calls. They seem to like me.

I've been practicing my walking, so I can move at about the same speed with about the same grace as I could bipedal. Running, however, is foreign ground, as I have yet to even figure out the order in which my legs move.

It seems, though, that the body I inhabit is still quite young. I have grown significantly recently. When I first arrived, unconscious, I was approximately the same height as the winged equine who brought me. Now, I stand a good six inches above her, having grown seemingly overnight. This body has an odd growth pattern.

But what sticks in my head most is the winged horse. The modified creature. I've long given up hope of finding the scientist who created her, as I've seen no evidence of a human in the cottage. But what intrigues me is the intelligence. I can see it in the abnormally large eyes, in the way she seems to speak to the other animals. The language used is a foreign one, all sounds a horse would be expected to make; soft whinnies, neighs and the like. She seems to have gotten more accustomed to my presence in her home, no longer reacting negatively when I walk through a room.

In fact, she seems to be trying to communicate, sometimes. I will be sitting, resting, absorbing light, and she walks to me and sits down. She seems to be trying to make small talk, using the strange, quiet equine language she uses with the animals. I look to her, and try to respond as best I can, but my vocabulary is limited to hisses, whistles and gurgles. It's like being mute, but without the ability to use facial expressions. Because of this, whenever she tries to speak to me, she leaves looking disappointed, as if she expected me to understand, like the animals do. And I wish I could. But here I am, reduced to scribbling in a journal. Oh, well.