After Mimir had turned into the monster he saw himself as, he was disgusted. The day after he turned, he had run out of the house into the night's snow, fleeing the confusion and conflict that both he himself and his family held for the situation.
As if subconsciously doing it, he reached the area of the woods where the Oorl Worm had attacked him, and Mimir grabbed at his head in panic, only finding the monster-like head. It was uncommon for newly formed Url to feel this way, but he didn't know that. All he knew was that he was a beast, a Gorr, and he was no longer who he thought he was. Everyone he loved would treat him differently, since he was no longer Ailor, no longer blessed.
There was a war going on inside his head. Mimir let go of his head and lifted it, looking into the deep recesses of the forest. His nostrils flared at the thought of just running, running and never looking back, finding the most dangerous thing he could and tracking it down, killing it, tearing into it with his bare hands. He then shook his head, tearing his eyes from the forest. No, he was human, he thought. He couldn't just do that. But ...
Could he?
After what seemed like hours of the agonizing conflict, Mimir had long since collapsed on the ground, giving up on standing on his (strange) legs. They were no longer human either, but digitigrade, like an animal's. An animal. Was that what he was? Was that what his fated existence led him to?
Near where he had been attacked, there was a small pool of water where the sun had penetrated the trees and melted some of the stubborn snow. He was afraid to look, afraid of the crystal clear water in the forest so dirty and wild. Like him, he thought bitterly. But he forced himself to look, dragging himself to his feet (still human, still human) and slowly peering into the pool.
When he got a clear view of himself, he looked away immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. His eyes weren't orange, they were green, not what he saw for a fleeting moment in the water. And his face ...
He wouldn't have been so arrogant as to have called himself handsome, but he thought he had been somewhat good looking. A slightly chiseled face, almost identical to his twin's (what a surprise), with strong features and a slightly burly look to him. But now all that was left was ... Spirit, he forced himself to look again, and he forced himself to hold his own gaze. His own bright orange-eyed gaze.
His face had manifested itself into that of a bull, it seemed. His face had elongated into a sort of muzzle, and his skin was no longer visible except for some of the top part of his arms, instead replaced by brown hair, no longer the red hair that he had once owned, matted with sweat and snow and tears. He had a few sharp teeth jutting out of his mouth, looking carnivorous and terrifying. Mimir had realized that, when his mother had tried to feed him his favorite vegetable stew, he could no longer eat anything but meat and that his new teeth would help him eat it. He had spit out the vegetables tasting like sand and dirt and had been even more ashamed than before when he saw that he had changed more than anticipated (really, how much more could he have changed?).
When his gaze traveled across the surface of the water, he saw that he had huge, gray horns, curled out and then in toward his head. He carefully reached up a hand to touch them and pulled his hand away as if burned. They were cold to the touch—though it only made sense, given how cold it was (how was he not cold? He had been out in warmer nights than this and needed layers upon layers of clothing).
He tried again, fingers brushing the surface, finding the horns ridged and rough. He tentatively ran his fingers across the length of them, something horrible inside of him seemingly forcing him to realize the reality of this, to reach out and touch it, as if saying, this is what you've become. Now accept it.
The pool of water became distorted for a moment, the surface becoming nothing but ripples as a drop of water fell into it. After a moment more, Mimir realized that there were tears running down his hairy face. I must be crying more than I think, he thought hopelessly, for the fur is probably catching most of the tears.
Mimir stared into the no longer-clear pool of water as he wept bitterly, knowing that he could do nothing.
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