Drying Cement

Ick.  An overwhelming disgust fills you with a desperate need to be anywhere else but here.  Your nose is itching, the chalky motes of dust or whatever are swirling in the dimness surrounding you.  

Holy hell, this is not your grandma's fairytale adventure nightmare, is it?  

What to do, you muse, a bit frantically, as your legs sink a small but noticeable amount further into the muck and gravel you have fallen into.  A berry, all I want is that berry!

The End

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