She dreamed of fire, and destruction. Nature that bore down like a scorned woman with fury, and despair, and resolve to remind puny humans they lived with her, not on her. Nature refused to be taken advantage of for this long. Refused to take this abuse any longer.
Yet, could do very little about it.
She awoke to the smell of wood ash and burning plastic, curled up in her little den. The taste of cooked meat in her mouth made her feel ill. Wanting to escape the taste, she exited her little den in search of fresh berries. There was always some growing wild around here.
If Cron noticed anything amiss, he didn't mention it, for which she was glad.
YOU ARE READING
The Smell of Mint Flowers
General FictionAn almost forgotten nature deity meets the newest example of human-robotic engineering by pure chance. When two very different worlds collide, what will happen?
