"The forest, Willow," Wilson warns, gripping his axe.
She looks to the sun sinking below the pines.
"We'll get out."
The lighter glints. Clicks, twice, and rekindles her eye's frightful shine. His fingers pulse against the axe's handle.
The monster rises. Creaking, groaning. Leafy spines quiver. To step forward it must sever its own root system. A sulphuric stench stings his nose, like sour mulch left unturned for weeks.
Whoosh!
Like noxious chemicals and scorched black hair.
It crackles…
Roars…
The sun slithers away, and Wilson takes her hand, hot to the touch, pulling her gaze from the hungry flames.