I twisted the sweater into a makeshift satchel, gently tying the sleeves up like a handle and using the torso as the cradle.
And then I considered the situation. Should I collect the mushrooms with my bare hands? Would that taint them, insome way? I glanced at my fingers contemplatively. What if I only touched them for a moment? That would probably be fine. It wasn’t like I would be carrying them all the way back to town with my bare hands.
As quickly as possible, I plucked the first mushroom.
The stem was more solid than I expected it to be—more like the woody stem of a rose bush than a delicate piece of sponge.
But it tore off easily enough. I set the mushroom in the sweater-pouch.
A branch snapped somewhere to my right. I paused to listen, my ears snapping to attention.
Sounds in the forest weren’t uncommon, but creatures of the forest were usually stealthier than that.
When no other sounds followed, I resumed my gathering.
I plucked another mushroom. And then another. My fingertips turned a strange pink color, and I wiped them off on my trousers.
A wave of warmth heated my already flushed skin, and dizziness tugged at me.
I must have been running harder than I thought.
I swiped my hand over my forehead to collect the dripping sweat and keep it out of my eyes.
Gods, I wasreallysweaty.
The cold evening air didn’t do enough to cool me, so I shoved my sleeves up, exposing my forearms.
It was incrementally better.
I glanced around to notice the dual suns were near to slipping over the horizon—I hadn’t even noticed the time passing.
I needed to get home. Brambleby would be expecting dinner.
I hoisted the makeshift mushroom bag onto my shoulder and began the treacherous journey back to the trail. I clumsily climbed over a fallen log, nearly stumbling in the process.
Something heavy dropped to the ground somewhere behind me.
Leaves rustled.
Branches snapped.
A low rumble echoed in my alert ears.
My heart thudded sluggishly in my chest. I fought to pull enough air in.
Something was following me. Somethingbig.
I glanced over my shoulder, prepared to face my death.
A dark mass was closing in.
I bolted.
I ran like my life depended on it.
“Help!” I screamed, but the words came out garbled. Distorted. It didn’t even sound like my own voice.
My ears were ringing. When did my ears start ringing?
