The Oldest Recipe
A creeping twilight pressed down across the copse.
The saprophytic tumuli waited. Someone would be along. Abroad too late to see properly in the gloaming - or too late in remembering the townsfolk’s admonishments to avoid Maw Woods.
And here he comes, Johnny City-Boy, long after curfew, country ale curdling in his belly as he staggers home.
Furtive, seeking roots tumble over themselves, whispering, and deep within each tumulus, ancient stomach acids bubble in anticipation.
A creeping twilight pressed down across the copse.
The saprophytic tumuli waited. Someone would be along. Abroad too late to see properly in the gloaming - or too late in remembering the townsfolk’s admonishments to avoid Maw Woods.
And here he comes, Johnny City-Boy, long after curfew, country ale curdling in his belly as he staggers home.
Furtive, seeking roots tumble over themselves, whispering, and deep within each tumulus, ancient stomach acids bubble in anticipation.