The long-awaited third part to this 'choose your own adventure' story.
Algameth peers over the side of the root. The girls have been dragged almost all the way to the tree; and even from this distance she can see long trails of saliva glob out of the monster’s mouth as it anticipates its meal.
She’s no stranger to death. She deals with it regularly; hell, she creates the instruments that kill hundreds, if not thousands; and she’s dished it out herself frequently to men who cross her lines. But this isn’t right; these two girls are someone’s daughters. They’re too young to end like this. They have more suns to see.
A plan takes murky shape: Go for the weak parts. It’s rough, but it’ll have to do.
She starts by jogging several steps away from the drama, into the wood. She needs air, lots of it. With a small sniff she tests for the deathly fragrance. It’s clear. Good. Her mighty chest swells as she sucks in a huge lungful; and when she thinks she can’t take in any more, she forces several short gasps to fill the remaining pockets—a trick she uses when diving for fish.
With a cursory glance of her surroundings she can’t see any useful sticks or rocks, so decides her hands will have to do. The vines shouldn’t be too hard to break anyway, she thinks as she turns and plunges out into the field, into the blazing sunlight, which she wishes would go away so she wasn’t so conspicuous.
The tree doesn’t seem to have eyes anyway—it probably just feels its way around. Or maybe it’s so big that it can no longer move, and just spends its time waiting for food to stumble across its sprawling feet.
Alga sprints straight towards the girl closest to the tree: the one being dragged by purple hair. She reaches the body and grips one of the villainous vines with both hands. She pulls it sideways. It doesn’t budge from its course; not an inch.