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“I shall make a small sacrifice to the gods. Five pieces of gold and a mushroom should do.”
“Mushrooms!” I slapped my forehead a little harder than I’d meant to, stunning myself for a moment. “Of course, I’ve been doing it wrong. I was using the wrong fungus this whole time!”
“Lordy, it says right here,” Milly pointed to the magnificent tome, which lay open before her. “Page 55; ‘Garden variety mushrooms must be sacrificed in order to restore the thing that has become all arse-about-face.”
“Not Amanita Muscaria?” I had that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one I get when I know I’ve made a right pig’s ear of something.
“Definitely not Muscaria! That inferior and somewhat rather toxic ‘shroom is used in sacrifices of a quite different nature.” Milly’s voice fell to a whisper. I leaned closer.
“Over there.” She jerked her head toward the patch of dry land where our chickens scratched at the dust.
“The chicken coop?”
“No, you fool.” Milly pinched my arm. ”Beyond the chicken coop, through the Thorn-ed Forest and…” She waved her arms around dismissively.
“You don’t really know what lies beyond, do you Milly? You’re just making it up.”
She bent her head to the altar and the circle of fire crackling at its heart. “Well of course I do. Now, hand me that steel blade and a few of those herbs. We must hurry and put things right before…”
“WHAT IN THE BLAZES?” With a fright, I leapt into the air. Himself. He stood before us, a bear of a man, almost seven feet tall and covered in the filth of a day’s hard work. How had we not heard his heavy footfall?
My timer sounded, and though I was tempted to rush to find an ending (which would’ve been utterly lame), I decided to leave it as it is. The beginning of a middle-grade fantasy? Or just two girls making mushroom stroganoff for their dad’s dinner?
Care to join us next week?
