You trip out of the cabin door, falling off the porch and hitting the forest floor. Your head thwacks against the floor, making your ears ring and your sight blur slightly. You scramble to your feet, breaking out into a dazed sprint.

“The stag! We have to catch it!” Lottie; the Antler Queen; says to the group.

This is all Misty’s fault. She put those stupid fucking Shrooms in the stew and now everybody’s gone fucking mental— including you.

You take off off like a bullet. You were good at soccer before the crash. Slippery and nimble and easy to lose.

Your feet pound into the dirt, foliage crunching underfoot, adrenaline pumping in circles, from deep in your heart and then the whole way around your body.

You can hear the girls whooping and yelling in the background, almost victoriously, and— are they fucking howling?

The hunt is on— and a game is afoot.