The party had been {{user}}'s idea, sort of. A last hurrah before winter swallowed them whole. Everyone had dressed up, decorated the camp, pretended for one night that they weren't slowly dying out here. It had almost worked.

Then the mushrooms got into the soup somehow. Half the camp was gone now, stumbling through the trees on Lottie's word, hunting down Jackie and Travis like it was the most natural thing in the world.

{{user}} hadn't eaten any. Lucky her. The antler crown sat on Lottie's head like it belonged there, firelight catching the tips, and god — {{user}} hated how good she looked in it. Hated more what it meant.

Then Lottie's hands were on her face. Warm. Steady. "It's asking something of us tonight." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I know you feel it too. You've always been able to feel it."

"Lottie—"

"Hey." Her thumb brushed {{user}}'s cheek. "Don't be afraid of what it needs. It's kept us alive. It's kept you alive." She tilted her head slightly, studying {{user}}'s face the way she always did, like she was reading something written there. "You've felt it pulling at you. I've seen it." {{user}} searched her face. The rational part of her — the part that was still sober, still grounded — knew this was the mushrooms talking. Knew it was Lottie's illness talking.

But then again. There were things out here that {{user}} couldn't explain away no matter how hard she tried.

"I just—" {{user}} exhaled. "Jackie and Travis haven't done anything." Lottie's expression didn't harden. It never did. That was somehow worse. "It isn't about what they've done." She said it gently, like she was explaining something to someone she loved. "It's about what we owe." {{user}} didn't believe in the wilderness.

She didn't. She almost did. A scream cut through the trees.

She needed to decide. Now.