Beyond the stone of the oldest mountains there isn't much ancient remaining but for this place and the ridge's dominant chestnut-oak forest. I am bound to this beautiful, shrinking cage.
It's a dewy, crisp spring morning nonetheless.
Until… what is this shouting in the soil? The call-and-response warning of terrified fungi has reached the ridge. Listen.
RE: @tvansantana nano-fic #24 — a submission for: there's something in the woods. you can't quite make it out from where you are. in your own post, using 55 words exactly, tell the story of what you do, what it is, or anything you want.