Don’t go in there, I warned them. Stay away from that fecund place, that verdant grotto. But they had already seen its fragrant pools, the moss dripping overhead. They longed for the sticky sweetness of it, like honey, that moisture overflowing with life.
They open their mouths, feeling the first drops on their tongues, cool and sweet, then hot and fiery. Soon they can’t get enough. They lap at the soaking moss until the fronds stick to their teeth, until their tongues rub against the very root of it. Their mouths full, they cannot stop, blissfully trapped within succulent walls.