Chapter Five
Foster
The healer said I could try tea for some of my symptoms. But he’d also told me I needed to shift regularly and emphasized things like yoga and meditation.
The tea? Sure. I’d pick up a box of green tea with mint and one of those sleep blends and replace some of the coffee I practically took intravenously.
Shifting was a little more difficult, since it took a whole lot longer than dipping a bag into boiling water and bobbing it up and down for a couple of minutes.
I’d seen some videos saying that wasn’t the best method and even that the bags were not the best choice, but it was Nana’s method, and if it was good enough for my grandmother, then it was good enough for me.
And a week later, I was ready to put my plans into action.
I certainly intended to shift more often, telling myself it was worth it if it helped me to keep going.
Once I finished my degree, I’d have more time even with a heavy work schedule, and I vowed I’d spend a good chunk of that in my fur.
For the deer’s sake and mine. Determined to make a start, I got up early, before dawn, and went out the back door, leaving my pajama bottoms—the only thing I ever slept in, folded on the back porch.
A hop over the railing and I landed on the ground in full-deer form. We’d always been a quick-shifting team.
At first, he seemed reluctant to move, though, as if reminding me how long it had been since we’d done this, but after a little internal groveling on my part, he suddenly leapt forward and across the yard, heading for the tree line.
The forest that began at the edge of the property was not large, but it was enough for a quick run.
With a vague plan for watching the sunrise through my deer’s eyes, it had seemed ideal.
But this was my first sunrise run, and my deer’s pleasure at being able to stretch his legs and go at top speed was great but made me feel guilty.
Nimble, he darted past the trunks and bounded over low bushes.
Until the sun was well over the horizon, we explored the woodland we’d spent so little time in before this morning.
We returned to the porch and shifted back, and I picked up my pajamas on the way to the shower.
Standing under the spray, I took a mental inventory of the tasks I needed to accomplish today.
I wanted to dash into town for the tea recommended by the healer, even if I wasn’t going to take all of his advice.
Two out of three suggestions sounded reasonable to me.
As it happened, my usual public parking area had no spaces available due to one of the week’s farmer’s markets.
Which landed me in the same lot as last time.
And forced to walk past the yoga studio—if that was what it was—on my way to the market.
It was open, now. The banner still hung over the door, but it was clearly an open and thriving business now.
Whatever the owner did, he must have an excellent marketing consultant on his side to be doing so well so soon.
A class was about to start, it seemed, twenty or so people seated in that foot-up position I thought was called “lotus.” Or at least attempts to do it.
Some only had one foot on top, the other underneath.
I wasn’t sure I could even accomplish that much.
Intending to keep walking, instead I found myself reluctant to move on.
It was still early in the day, since I’d gone on my run so early, and I was amazed that so many folks would want to get up and make it to a class at this time of day.
Somehow, I’d thought yoga and such things were evening practices.
The door was propped open, a table holding schedules right there, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d stepped inside and picked one up.
Out of curiosity. Nothing more. How long was this class—and if I waited around, would he accept an invitation for a date?
I didn’t expect him to join me in market consults—so it should be fine if I wasn’t attending his classes. It was only a job.
I glanced down to see various classes and workshops listed at all different times of the day.
Morning sun salutations, afternoon omega hatha yoga, evening relaxation stretching.
Lots of breath work sessions, whatever that was, exactly.
Yet, over the course of the week, they weren’t stacked up.
He almost never had one class right after another, which seemed like a waste of efficiency.
Maybe some people would come for a breath work and stay for a kundalini yoga if there wasn’t a gap there.
He was missing opportunities to make money.
To upsell. But then my gaze drifted to the side and saw the prices, and my jaw dropped.
Did the bear omega hate money? His prices, whether for individual sessions or monthly memberships including a certain number of classes per month, were laughably cheap.
Not that I’d researched the topic, but it was cheaper than one of those gyms where they sign up as many as possible on the assumption few would come very often.
I had belonged to one of those while still in the herd.
I’d gone three times and spent six months trying to quit.
There was no auto pay on this schedule. He accepted cash, checks, and cards, but a person could not set it up so he got payment without them taking any action each month just to keep the cash flowing.
Looking up, I found myself under the calm gaze of the omega. “Take a seat.” He pointed to a bin that held rolled-up mats, and I took one, unrolled it on the floor, and sat cross-legged. I didn’t even try lotus for fear I’d either roll over backward or get locked in place.