There were three approaches to getting the loot hidden inside the dragon’s dung: kill or drive away the flies, protect against their bites, or neutralize their attraction to the dung.

The last was a chemical problem and out of my league, while protecting against their bites needed either specialized clothing, armor, or magic, none of which I had. I suppose I could’ve cobbled something together out of fur with time and resources, but those were in short supply too. No, the simplest approach was to get rid of the flies, which, lacking a giant can of insecticide, meant tricking them into fleeing. I maybe could’ve waited till the dung dried out and set fire to it, but I didn’t want to risk a forest fire. A flaming five foot log of dung would be no joke. Instead, I’d make the flies think there was one.

So: a plan.

To execute it, I gathered two piles near the dung. The first was made of kindling, and the second was of green leaves. I also found a large frond to use as a fan.

I set the kindling aflame using a brand from the campfire. The flies noticed right away, and a few scouts lifted into the air to investigate. I felt sweat drip down my back everytime one of the little brutes swung past me. I built up a small fire and then let it burn down to embers. When the coals were ready, I tossed the leaves onto them.

Gray smoke filled the air, and I quickly fanned it towards the flies. “Look, it’s a forest fire. Time to flee.”But instead of leaving, the flies clung to the dung. The buzz grew louder, as the alarmed flies used their wings to cool the dung. Bees do the same thing to protect their hives against fires. I just didn’t expect the same behavior from these flies.

A handful of flies lifted into the air to find the source of danger. I felt them ping, like pebbles, against my face and arms. One crawled inside my shirt and bit me on the back. I felt like I’d been stabbed again. Its wings buzzed angrily against the fabric, and the other flies zoomed towards me. I ditched the fan and dived into the water.

The dang fly bit me twice more before it drowned, but at least I wasn’t hurt or poisoned.

Hit Points 8/8 Conditions

From the other side of the glen, I watched the fire burn itself out. The otter sat beside me. I thought she’d mock me for failing, but instead she looked thoughtful, alternating glances between me and the fire. She must’ve come to a decision about something, because she pulled me over to a patch of soft ground.

The otter pulled a short stick, almost like a dowel, from inside her pocket.

“Just how much do you have in there?” I couldn’t help but ask.

The otter quirked her head, not understanding.

“Never mind. What is it you wanted to show me?”

The otter began to draw in the dirt. She started with a rough oval and slowly added details, like a mustalid Bob Ross. At the edges, she drew happy trees. In the open space between them, little happy grasses sprung up. And in the center was a happy rock covered in happy flowers.

She gestured to the rock and began a new drawing. It turned out to be a mound covered in mushrooms, like a forest within the forest. Then she pointed to a mushroom and drew it in detail. It had a long stalk, and its head folded down like an umbrella.

The otter pointed at the drawing and then at the forest. She mimed walking in place.

“You want me to go there?” I asked. I repeated her gestures to show that I understood.

The otter nodded and gestured to wait. She disappeared into the brush and came back with a large frond. She pretended to wrap the mushroom with the frond and bring it back to the glen.

“This is a quest then,” I said smiling. “I’m to bring back a mushroom.” Each time I spoke, I repeated her gestures.

The otter nodded, and then her eyes got really serious. She put her paw on my hand to make sure I was paying attention. Then she pretended to take a bite of the mushroom. Suddenly, her whole body shook. She gagged, stumbling over the sketch, her paws at her neck. Slowly, she spun around until she finally fell over as if dead.

I clapped, moved by her performance. “No eating the deadly dangerous mushrooms. Got it.”

The otter got up and dusted herself off. She had one more thing to share with me. This time, she made a drawing of a fire, pretended to toss the mushroom onto it, and pointed towards the flies.

A vicious smile spread across her face, which was quickly copied on mine. Just because we didn’t have any insecticide, didn’t mean we couldn’t make our own.

###

I took my spear with me, a coil of braided rope over my shoulder, and the frond. It must’ve been a sight, part Huckleberry Finn, part Lord of the Flies.

The meadow was in a direction I hadn’t explored, more green than woodsy. The thick bushes made for slow going, especially since I was being careful of hidden dangers, like snakes, poisonous insects, and carnivorous plants.

I hadn’t confirmed the existence of carnivorous plants yet, but the day would come, I was sure of it.

Five hundred feet from the glen, I felt myself move from one space to another. The feeling was weird, not physical at all. I’d passed through an intangible barrier, and something intangible inside me recognized it.

My guess was that it was the boundary to the Spirit of Ikfael Glen’s territory. I moved ahead, slower than before, using my spear to test the ground and move branches aside. There could be pitfalls, giant trap door spiders, and who knew what else in the ground. I didn’t find any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, somewhere, along a different path maybe.

It took me about an hour to go half a mile, which depending on the day and hour was still better than Los Angeles traffic, so I considered the extra caution a win. I was just congratulating myself for how well I was doing when I heard a large body move through the brush.

I ducked behind the nearest tree and readied my spear, just in case. I prayed I wouldn’t need it though. Whatever the beast was, it wasn’t afraid of making noise. It grunted and snorted as it heaved, and a small tree trunk cracked under its weight. There were satisfied licking noises. Then the beast trundled away, the ground thumping as it walked.

I peeked from behind the tree, but all I saw were bushes swaying in the beast’s wake. And a tree, fifteen feet tall, its trunk splintered at the base. The bark was gouged where the beast had shoved the tree over. The hair on my head stood on end, as I gazed at the tree’s scars, sap oozing from them.

Why that tree and none of the others? The only difference was a purple lichen near the top of the trunk. The area was covered in saliva, and only a few patches of lichen remained. I crept closer and found two small strips hidden underneath. Were they edible? A delicacy? I wouldn’t risk eating them, but the otter might like them. I wrapped the remains in some leaves and tucked the package inside my shirt.

I kept going, which made me either courageous or a fool. I didn’t know which. Fortunately, I didn’t encounter any other giant beasts along the way.

The meadow was gentle. A breeze swayed through a lush and verdant field of wildflowers. There was a spicy-sweet scent in the air, like honey and ginger, and the drone of bees nearby. At the center of the meadow, like kings and queens on their thrones, were the mushrooms on their mound.

I sat at the edge of the meadow and kept watch, my paranoia at odds with the peacefulness of the place. I tossed a rock into the field, but nothing happened and no monsters appeared.

Where was the troll at the bridge? The dark forest to cross? This quest was too straightforward. Or maybe I’d just read too many adventure stories.

I picked my way into the meadow, careful not to disturb the flowers. The ground was more uneven than expected, and I nearly tripped twice from branches jutting from the ground. Their texture was smooth, as if the bark had been stripped from them.

The hair on the back of my neck rose. I reached down to pull, not a branch, but a bone from the ground. Big enough to be from a large boar or sow. I dug and found more bones, from animals small and large. The meadow was littered with them.

All the while, the scent of honey and ginger grew stronger. It tickled my nose and found a path to my brain, tingling the nerves as it went. Pleasure seeped into my body and rolled through me in waves. All the tension I’d been holding dissipated like rain on a hot stone.

My worries fell away. At the same time, I grew hungry. Starving even. I ate nearly three pounds of fish earlier, but that didn’t matter. My mouth filled with saliva, and I had to spit it out. When I did, my mouth filled with saliva again.

I was ravenous.

The spicy-sweet scent came from the mound, where the mushrooms glowed in the afternoon light. They were beautiful. And tempting, promising to fill my emptiness. I walked closer, and the smell soaked into my skin.

A dim part of my mind noticed that the earth around the mound was especially uneven. Many, many creatures must’ve died here, their flesh feeding the meadow.

Fascinated by my own actions, I reached with the spear and gently cut one of the mushrooms at its base. Harming such a lovely creature was a tragedy, but it had to be done. Like a pallbearer, I lifted the mushroom up with the flat of my spear and placed onto the frond, which I wrapped and tied around it like a shroud.

Leaving was painful, like I was tearing myself away from a lover’s embrace. But I knew I couldn’t stay. My Skills and Blessings--everything from Survival Forest to Biology, my wife’s spirit to Ikfael Glen--were bleating in alarm.

I knew what was happening. I knew that I was under a spell, but it was still hard to listen to those voices inside me, urging me to resist the mushrooms’ call.

The scent lingered to the meadow’s edge, as I passed the boundary out into the forest, and all the way back to the glen. The mushrooms were insidious, seductive, and terrible in a way the baboon or even the dragon could never be.

I’d rather have a troll on a bridge anyday over this monster.