No dreams disturb me this day. After a deep sleep under the mud, I feel rejuvenated. My cave lies undisturbed as I set freshly open eyes back upon it. How could such a treasure of a place go unclaimed before my arrival? I’m surprised that I didn’t have to fight anyone else’s claim. It’s been too easy to simply come in and take whatever I want. Oh no, my herbs!

  Jumping out of the mud and rushing to the cave entrance, I’m relieved to see my entire collection still lying on the ground. The sun is almost done setting and a cool wind whips in and out through the cave entrance, unwilling to fully enter into its full depths.

  No time like the present to get back to task, so I quickly gather a pile of the herbs into my arms. To my surprise, they’ve all become very dry and brittle. Did I make a mistake leaving them up here? Can’t fix past mistakes, but if this doesn’t work, then I’ll have to let them rest on the mud next time.

  Hurrying back in an awkward waddle to my already clean, readied pot, I set up a dedicated mixing spot in order to start getting very serious. With the pot in the center, I separate out a palette of herbs into different groups encircling it. I have no idea what any of these are exactly, but there’s at least some very obvious differences to them. Some have big leaves, some small. Some leaves are wavy, some are straight. Some are dark, some are light, some are in between. All the minutia and detail somehow entrances and fascinates my tiny eyes.

  Perfection isn’t required, but I must at least try to remember what’s being mixed together. Otherwise, how will I repeat success? Otherwise, it will just be a repeat of the same madness of the proto-mud. As enjoyable as that was, the book sadly says that I shouldn’t mix with abandon anymore. Assuming it isn’t more deceptive big one lies?

  I begin the main mission. Taking my first herb from a pile, I throw it into the pot and hammer at it with my fists. The intense agitation causes it to crumble and break apart, but that’s not enough. Like the rock powder I made before, I take a hard rock and rigorously hammer it into the base of the pot. The dry, brittle herb completely turns to dust. The destruction makes me feel good. It’s as if I’m returning the plant back to all its basic parts, ready to rebuild it as whatever I wish it to be. As the mud did with me.

  I finish the concoction by adding water from a skin at my waist, exactly as the book instructed. Only enough to fully cover it, plus slightly more. Then, strictly following instructions to the letter, I happily swish it all together with a finger. It’s getting so thoroughly combined that I’m growing excited in anticipation. This must be correct! What is it?

  This is correct? Wait, I cleaned the pot so well! How can it possibly call it dirty?

  “Bah!” I loudly curse the appraisal after therapeutically throwing my hands high above my head.

  After dumping the contents of the pot out into the pool, I then vigorously scrub it clean with mud once again. One by one, I go around the circle of herbs trying each in a new creation. However, all that ever results is this same, stupid dirty herbal drink. Is this a success or not? How would I know?

  Frustrated, I stomp out of the cave to restore my water skin and carry back another armful of the dry herbs at the entrance. There’s a few new ones in this load, so perhaps I’ll get lucky.

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  Again, I fan them around with the same process, a simmering hope empowering me. Finally, there’s paydirt.

  “Uoh!” I uncontrollably exclaim out loud.

  It worked! This is it! Hopping out all of my celebrations in a circle, I then quickly sweep all the other, failed herb piles away from my workplace. I also dump the contents of the pot into the mud pool, before vigorously cleaning it in the mud again as the critical first step. Rushing to the cave entrance, I exclusively fetch only more of the same specific herb into my arms for my work. At least, as best I can. Three leaves, dark green, very curvy. My arms full, I sprint back and begin rapid fire repeating the process.

  It’s certainly working. Most of the time. Occasionally, it returns back to the dirty herbal drink, but that’s probably only because I mistook the wrong plant. There might be another one that looks like this one? Regardless, I’m definitely succeeding!

  So sweet a song is this. The entire night disappears into the effort. Occasionally, I must fetch more water. During these trips I grab whatever more of this wonderful herb that I happen across, leaving it at the cave entrance in a new pile to dry. I’ll probably have to continue tomorrow, so I must ensure my supply doesn’t run low.

  However, the levels just keep coming. Before long, I’m shocked to realize that I’ve finished.

  What happened? The book made it sound as though this would take a long time. Am I a genius?

  Appraising my final creation, I sigh in joyous contentment before dumping it out into the pool to join the rest.

  Realizing that I’m famished, I triumphantly return to the forest. Waiting with metal in hand, I lie still in the trees beneath the young one’s dark, soft outer skin. Ambushing a bird, squirrel, and a rabbit, I completely devour each one in place immediately to calm the hunger.

  So, so easy! Maybe I am a genius? Maybe I don’t even need these stupid books. The big ones should learn from me instead. Assuming they don’t try to kill me on sight. That’s what being a threat means, right?

  I happily slither back, sent home by the rising sun and exhaustion from the extremely animated night of activities. Another day’s rest in the mud and I’ll bounce back again. Maybe I really don’t need the mixing book anymore? Tomorrow, I’ll try doing two herbs in the water instead. That must be better, right? Or three? If two is better than one, then three should be even more so. What if I did all of them at once? What if I use mud instead of water?