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"JUST LET ME try," Freya urged Amy, attempting to pry the red bucket filled with mushrooms from the blonde's reluctant hands. "If I throw up then they're poison but if I don't; we finally have food that isn't disgusting fish."
"And if you die?" Amy shot back, slapping away Freya's hands. "Shane may actually arrest me."
"Fine," Freya relented, blowing out a dramatic sigh. "I don't really like mushrooms anyway."
"Nor do I," Amy responded, shaking the bucket grimly. "But food is food now, right?"
"Right," Freya agreed reluctantly.
Their journey back to camp was, to sum it up in one word, miserable. The radiant sun illuminating the heavens called forth a gallon of sweat to soak Freya's skin, the droplets beading across her hairline were especially vexing, she'd never wanted to tear off her own flesh in all her life until now.
"Any luck?" Lori asked with a hopeful smile as the duo walked into her line of sight. She held out a plastic bowl for Amy to empty the foraged mushrooms into.
Amy deposited their pitiful findings into the bowl. "How do we tell if they're poison?"
"Uh. . ." Lori tilted her head to the side, deep in thought. "There's only one sure way I know of."
"I already offered," Freya informed her, sinking down onto the log opposite her mother. Amy assumed the spot beside her, and Freya nudged her lightly for emphasis. "She said no."
Lori frowned at her daughter. "And she was right to. You could be killed by one of these."
"Somehow death seems more appealing than another night of slimy fish," Freya muttered.
"Don't be ungrateful," Lori warned her. "We're lucky to have food — appreciate it."
It's hard to appreciate something that slimy.
Freya clasped her hands together and leaned her chin on top of them. She wasn't trying to be ungrateful but nothing was ever supposed to be that slimy. It was an assault on the tastebuds. Even though it felt like forever since she'd last sat around a table with a warm meal; it had only been eight weeks. News of her father's condition had spread fast and the civilians were eager to send their condolences in the form of casseroles, back then Freya had detested the vile dishes but now she found her stomach aching for the warmth they provided.
Amy placed her hands on her knees, leaning toward Lori. "Could you ask Shane when he gets back?"
Lori picked up the now-empty bucket. "You got it."
"Where are you going?" Freya inquired, peering at her mother suspiciously.
"To see if I can add to the pile," Lori replied casually, gesturing to the bowl of mushrooms.
