Bigfoots tend to just let things happen. They have a great propensity for insight, but poor memories. They must rely on certain triggers to remember things. They have a kind of magic related to certain objects. They can 'read' them in the sense of how we would read a book. They study all the lines and contours and ferret from them the details of a story the object holds.

This period of reflection constitutes a sort of daily ritual. Time in the corner with the rocks and the sticks, sometimes imagining the millennia pilfering the air from a crystal, sometimes contemplating a bit of grass from between the teeth.

It is a useful evolutionary trait, probably born of many easy days idle in hidden forest vales. They are great observers and pick up more from us than we should likely be comfortable with. But not just us, from the birds, from the trees. We lack the words for such knowledge and it doesn't translate well to civilization.

We have agreements. The forest does not agree to anything. Things make do with their situation. If there are thieves, then things become less precious. If there are murders, well then death was inevitable.

But bigfoot is a little different than the forest. He is a sort of king, but not a regulator. He walks the deer trails, unchallenged, unopposed. The whole forest bows to him. He can beat the great trees till they moan, but not for mercy. He can play with the squirrels, but not for joy. All these formulations add up to something all the same.

I would say he is the forest's hero if I could narrow its definition to just those mysteries of will that govern expedience. He is a great problem solver as long as the ground is level.