Elmily tried to get the creepy story from her mind, but it haunted her. The sapling frowned. She sat with her thatch blanket, staring at the fire. “They can’t be real,” she decided. After repeating the sentiment several times, she felt calm enough to sleep.
Elmily bounced through the forest, rushing to safety. She panted, barely able to get enough air. Then, she hit the ground. Her root was caught on a rock. She groaned in pain. She remembered the monster. The sapling scurried, then froze. She felt the pain of being bitten. “No, don’t drink my sap!” But the large monster had already tore into her.
Elmily shot upright. She gripped her thatch blanket, holding it against her. She glared at Oaktavia who told the story of the evil sap suckers. “Stupid campfire stories,” she muttered. she muttered.