Night Forage

Stalked toward a discarded wooden pallet by the fence. My roots groaned against cold gravel. Beneath a rotting splintered board, damp darkness smelled sweet with decay. Something slick squirmed in the mud—a pale garden slug. I pinned it with the butt of my heavy scythe, then scooped the wet muck straight into my maw. Bitter dirt. Slimy chew. Good rot. A small cellar spider trembled on a cobweb stretched across the pallet corner; I held my breath and let my rumbling throat soften, stepping clear so its threads remained whole.