Cave Game

VII - Ferret

They thought it was fruit.

Strangely enough, it was all just fungi.

Glow berries had an interesting evolutionary history. Their specific and niche adaptations from its distant mushroom ancestors has been crucial to its survival. Growing from the roof of potentially deep and perilous caves, the fruits have to be prepared to shoulder any fall, no matter the distance. To facilitate this, each berry has a thick, ribbed skin that has developed around the fruit, reminiscent of the rind of a wild orange, tailored to reduce rolling and disperse the shock of a plunge. Underneath the skin is a spongy layer of soft flesh, with a texture almost like raw tofu. This layer acts both as a barrier and a storage buffer for plant food. Ultimately, both the skin and fruit are designed to bounce and absorb tremendous impacts, or in the worst case scenarios, act as a sacrificial crumple zone to protect the core. Eventually, the skin and flesh are meant to break (the flesh of the fruit serves as natural fertilizer for the seeds), but only after enough tumbling and rolling quite a distance. An apple that doesn't fall far from the tree means more competition later, so glow berries tend to travel when they fall ripe from their branches. The core of the fruit is undoubtedly the best part tastewise– the rest of the fruit is certainly edible, although not the most pleasant- but the core is a pocket of sweet goodness in a thick helmet of flesh. The core is where the plant's nutrients are processed and the chemiluminescent reactions occur, giving the plant its warm radiant glow. Thanks to the backup sustenance in the flesh of the fruit, this glow is able to be maintained for a while after the fruit is plucked from the branches, making for a short-lived but portable light source. In all, the fruits that hang from the vines rooted in the roof practically act as a catalyst in sustaining the vibrant life of vegetated caves underground. Without the bright light from the hanging fruit and fertilizer from the fallen fruit, the other flora wouldn't have the same easy breathing space and grounds for expansion.

Steve was experiencing these aforementioned life-nurturing characteristics of the glow berries as he wolfed them down.

"Oh muh fuhhing god," he said over a bite. Each mouthful was like heaven to him; he savored the mediocre taste and texture of the fruit like it was an entreè from a Michelin star restaurant. Each mouthful felt as though he was being dipped in a bath of aloe vera. Euphoria slumped onto a comfy couch in his head. As he ate, he strolled vine to vine, frugally picking the berries, so as to not dim the lighting they provided too much. As hungry as he was, his fear still outweighed its panging throes. With an arm toting a clustered pile of glowberries, held to his heart as if they were a child, he returned to Alex who was doing the same. Steve felt good; he felt rejuvenated from his foraged meal.

"Jesus Christ, your burns..." Alex said, agape. She let the berries vanish from her palm, drew up to him, put her hand on his arm.

A static shock.

Steve looked down to realize that miraculously, the burns on his arms and torso were for the most part dissipated. His skin once again looked mostly unmarred, and even his clothing seemed to begin to self-wash and stitch itself back together.

Her fingertips pressed on his skin.

Clay pigeon.

He still felt fairly beaten and exhausted, and it was clear that his apparel and wounds would need more tending to past this point, but it seemed as though something had reversed the damage the explosion had caused.

"Dude, what...?" he said, holding out his forearm, flipping it repeatedly to scrutinize both sides of the appendage.

"That's so cool!" Alex said, pushing off him while glancing to and from his eyes and arm. She released her grasp off the gash in her side to use both of her hands to hold a berry as she chewed. Steve watched as the laceration on her side began to seal itself into a scar, and for the scar to be veiled in green tunic as her shirt haphazardly sewed itself back together, the bloodstain fading as it did. 'Sewed' is an abstraction of what really happened. In reality, it seemed like each string in the fabric was instilled with the spirit of a blind ferret and loosely directed in the direction they needed to go in order to mend the hole. This writhing tangle of strings did eventually manage to tether together and pull itself tight, but the hole itself was only barely what could be considered repaired. Steve tried to remember if he could sew. I might have to learn- or relearn that he thought, looking at his and Alex's tattered garments. Definitely, tugging at the loose mish-mash of strings that made up the front of his shirt.