You march deeper into the forest. The moon is judging you. Fuck you moon, you think to yourself sullenly. You stroke your eleven bone knives to reassure yourself. You hear a slithering, crawling noise, like an army of a million bugs in the distance. It is coming from all around you. You feel dizzy and break into a run. You trip over a branch and fall down a steep hill. You roll on the ground and into a deep pit.
It is cold and pitch black here. You lie on the ground groaning. Then a voice speaks.
"LOLLIPOP, LOLLIPOP, BAKER'S BREAD," it intones. "GIVE ME A SLICE AND I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR HEAD."
To respond with your own clever rhyme, go to >>114
To stab at the voice with one of your eleven bone knives, try >>116