Chin dropped by in the morning to check on the shaman. He found the shaman returning with Pooh from his daily chores of getting the sun to come up, getting the ducks to fly, and waking up the frog chorus. The shaman had lost all his B'wana trappings and had returned to his normal robes and shamanic headdress. Pooh was wearing the pith helmet.
"How's it hanging, ol' buddy?" asked Chin.
"I'm fine," replied the shaman. "And you?"
"As good as an old chinaman needs to be," said Chin. "I stopped by to see if you were okay. I know yesterday was a hard one to swallow."
"Actually," said the shaman. "It wasn't. I was all worried about what would be expected of me, and I forgot that being the shaman around here is far more important. The 'Fire has plenty of B'wanas to go around. They only have one of me."
"That's the spirit!" said Chin. "I'm glad you didn't take it so hard."
"It's nice that I'll be able to visit the special V.I.P B'wana lounge whenever I want."
"I have heard it is nicely appointed," said Chin.
"And I'll be able to march with the other B'wanas in the parades."
"That's always a spectacle," said Chin.
"I just don't FEEL like a B'wana."
"How does a B'wana feel?"
"I don't know." said the shaman. "I guess I'm going to find out shortly."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much," said Chin. "It's liable to make you constipated or something."
