Meditation wasn’t the same after you died. You couldn’t focus on your breathing, or at the very least you couldn’t return to your breathing in the same way as when you actually had to breath. He was still trying to find a way that worked for him now. A way to be present, be calm, be mindful, without fighting or succumbing to the Beast. It was difficult with it always there and refusing to back down or relax. Not without a full belly. Yet he couldn’t get up and go straight to hunting. What little control of his life he had, he had to exercise or he’d go crazy.

So he lay on the ground where he had woken, trying to focus on a mantra and being continually distracted by the desire and drive to feed. Recognize the feeling and return. Get distracted again by the hunger. Recognize and return. Over and over again. For an hour.

He opened his eyes, clenching his fists to feel the muscles tense without life.

“I am surviving. I am living.”