The days were speeding by, now, leaving Tema in a whirlwind of behaviours that she had not expected. Today would be no different, seeing as the bear was set on clearing more fungus and collecting food for her soon-to-be newborns. She wondered often what they would look like, and how the void would empower them. Would they grow larger than her? Stronger? Faster? What if she had picked useless stones? Only time would tell.

Claws were aimed at some encroaching fungus, once again attempting to take over her carefully crafted den. She was growing tired of it. She cleaved the plant from its root easily, batting it away towards the growing pile of rot near the den. She had been using it as fertilizer as the fungus died, to promote new growth to better hide her home. It was a slow process, but her magic aided it greatly.

But clearing the fungus was only half the problem. She still needed to feed herself, both through meat and oil, not to mention get a stockpile for the children! Ah, but perhaps they would be better hunting their own food? Survival of the fittest? She would decide later.

Her mind was running, dragged between chaotic ideals and thoughts of her children. She needed to be better, for them. She needed to let chaos in, to allow it to grow beneath her skin like she had once allowed plants to. She needed to provide a good example, a perfect example. She could not be less. Not when she was raising the beginnings of an army.

Something skittering in the foliage of the trench caught her attention, and she was off. It didn't matter how Tema was built to hunt, and how her ancestors might have done so. She followed whatever her fancy was on any given day, and today she needed to burn some energy. It was more than just a spring cleaning urge that guided her today, it was excitement and anxiety all in one, and the whispers were eager to take hold if she let them. She was prone to major mood swings during this time, often leaving the den to check on her children and instead ending up tearing something apart. Lessers, fungus-covered plants, picking fights with greaters... She'd been a mess of unkempt fur and a growling stomach. Was there still blood stuck to her muzzle? She wouldn't be surprised. Maybe she would bathe before she visited their chrysalises next, just to be safe. They could hatch any day now.

That thought was enough to drive her further, faster, claws outstretched towards the rustling leaves. She landed... No, she was still falling. She had lept over the edge of the trench, into the too-tall ferns, and cascaded down much further than she had intended to fall. She had gotten distracted, once again, and misjudged her jump. A jungle deer peered at her as she fell, tumbling hindquarters over head into the depths of the trench. She was bruised and scraped, having caught on twigs and thorns as she fell, and she sat there in the middle of the trench with her head spinning for a while. So much for perfect.

She tried to get up once her head stopped spinning, and she dropped again as weight landed on a rear paw. Great, she'd sprained it. Broken it? No, that would hurt worse. Still, it meant she had a long way to go to get where she needed to be before her children hatched. She would have to continue regardless.

Ah, and there they were. Whispers of Chaos feeding off of her pain, her disappointment, her self-loathing. They called her to her feet, pushed her up the hill, nose tracking the scent of the one who got away. The deer who watched her failure, who would be no witness.

She stalked up the hill, adjusting their weight carefully off of her injured limb, searching. It had just been there, staring. Watching. Laughing. But it was gone by the time she crested the edge of the trench. She followed the scent, trying to keep up, trying to keep hidden. It was of no use, and her attack fell flat as the deer raced off into the forest. She was useless with her injury, with her distractions. She had lost sight of her purpose. She needed to be better, to get closer to her master, to better complete her tasks. The fungus was important, but it could wait. First, she needed more power. She needed its strength.

She would be more careful this time. She would not give chase, not in her condition. She would stalk, wait, ambush... Anything to ensure her catch. She would go fishing, if she had to. But she had to find something, anything to satisfy her growing need. The whispers were becoming urgent, needy. She had to give in, she had to consume. She could not face her children without proving herself.

There.

It didn't matter what was moving in the bush ahead. Mouse or deer, bird or lizard. She did not care. Her vision was darkening, a film of blood coating everything she saw. She was walking through pools of oil, belly fur getting coated in the thick substance as she crawled along, struggling to keep quiet with such a large form. She stopped at every stick she stepped on, cursed every leaf that rustled, creeping closer.

Tema stuck her paw into the bush, claws outstretched in a blind attempt at catching whatever hid within. She made contact, and her paw grew warm and wet. She grasped at it, batting it out of the bush and onto the cave floor where she ended it. It was over far too soon, but it would become oil. Nothing else mattered to the whispers, flitting around her mind like teething pups, always looking for more.

She waited for it to rot, enjoying the excuse to rest her injured paw. She would have to hide it when she visited the altar, and she knew it would only cause her more pain to do so if she didn't at least care for it not. It would heal in a few days, she hoped. Before they hatched, if she was lucky, but when was she ever?

She aimed a lazy swipe at some nearby fungus to pass the time before she could eat. It didn't take long for small lessers to decay, but Tema was not a patient bear. Not now, at least, when she had so little time to spare. She managed to take out a small clump of plants. It wasn't much, but it was still progress towards a cleaner cave. Besides, she would need to leave some to show her children how to eradicate it.

With her prize now ready for her consumption, Tema lapped up the oil and stood back up. She had wandered further from the den than she had planned, but she supposed it worked out for the best. It would look a little strange if only one spot in the cave was clear of fungus, considering that she was trying to hide the den, not spotlight it.

Then again... Ah, she couldn't help herself. The sounds of birds, of mice and even bugs... It was driving her crazy. She wasn't done yet. She needed more. Every encounter with oil made her feel closer to the void, made her feel better, stronger. She could feel its power coursing through her the more she let it in. It wanted her to prove itself, to cleanse herself. Her very stone needed to be overwritten with Its power, Its magic.

The fungus could wait, she decided, walking off. She needed to settle herself first, and that meant oil. Lessers. A scent a sound... something.

But there was nothing to be noticed here. Her scuffle had cleared out the area for the time being, and so she was left with little more than her thoughts and the white strings in the trees.

Wounded at her lack of luck, especially with her children so close to hatching, Tema was once again getting frustrated. It did not take much to anger the bear these days, and she was becoming more of a force to be reckoned with. Every frustration turned into a fit, a show of strength and power that she never would have thought herself capable of until the last few cycles. She was moulting. She formed herself into something new, or perhaps was moulded by Chaos. It was hard to tell some days, but she paid little mind to either -- as long as she could serve It better, she was happy.

Right now, that meant finding oil. She had to align herself better with It, purge herself of the magic that once complimented Sunny's so well. She would take a new form, mutate if she had to. She needed to shine.

Nothing.

The caves didn't understand. No one understood. She needed this, needed them, needed IT. The whispers grew more impatient the longer she took, pulsing, an erratic heartbeat of pain exploding in her skull. She was hungry. So hungry.

She was running, now, ignoring the pain in her limb in favour of eliminating this crushing feeling in her head. It was deafening, a stern reminder of her once perforated eardrum. A reminder of Chaos' love.

No.

Not love. Never love.

Chaos was honest about what it was, and it had never been love. Sunny had been love. Carja had been love. Love was gone, dead, much like her children would be if she could not feed them. What kind of a Mother are you?