The creature tilted its head. "I'm the a hussie. You've been calling for one for years. Figured I'd clock in."
"Hussie," he said aloud, to no one.
It stepped out from behind a hemlock and sat down directly in front of him, mimicking his posture. shrooms q hussie
When he opened his eyes again, the rain had stopped. The log was just a log. His hand was empty—the mushrooms were gone, or had never been there. The forest was quiet, save for the drip of water from the needles above.
"Hussie," he whispered again, and this time, the word had a shape. It hovered in the air, a little cursive cloud. The creature tilted its head
Q laughed, a wet, hysterical burst. "You're the hussie?"
She replied: "lol. don't do too many."
They sat in silence for a long while. The creature—the Hussie—began to pluck strands of light from the air and weave them into a small, intricate net. Q watched his own thoughts detach from him and drift away like dandelion seeds. Regrets turned into blue butterflies. His fear of dying next Tuesday became a small, barking dog that the Hussie shooed away with a gentle kick.