Dean could hardly contain his excitement. He had made it. It was shortly after dawn on the third day of hiking from the rocky shrubland into rolling grassy hills that he had found civilization.

  A wee while back, he noticed something in the distance. At first, he thought it was the morning fog rolling out, but as he continued, he soon realized it was smoke. He had found someone, or perhaps it was an entire settlement. ‘Probably not,’ he conceded. He crested the hill and overlooked a wide valley with a creek winding through the middle. Near the bank of the creek was a campsite. It consisted of one of those old-timey ‘Oregon Trail’ types of wagons with a canvas awning and an A-frame tent set up in the shade of the wagon. A tripod stove was perched over a small campfire, and two oxen were hitched up nearby. No, not oxen, but giant goatlike creatures; they were taller and broader than any goat he had seen. It reminded Dean of a Takin but about twice the size. Aside from the birds that would soar by far above, small rodent things that would shoot away from sight as soon as they suspected they weren’t alone, the rabbit he ate for breakfast a few days ago, and a snake or two that he had no interest in getting acquainted with, Dean had not seen any of the native animals. He managed to forage a few berries (this time on which he performed a toxicity test), which is what he had so far subsisted.

  The smell of bacon wafted past as he continued to spy on the camp. His stomach rumbled. As Dean made to get closer to the campsite and investigate further, he caught sight of a tumbleweed rolling by. “Well, isn’t that a cliché,” he thought before the tumbleweed abruptly stopped before him. It was oddly…. Threatening. The bush loomed, seeming to grow before his eyes. Similarly to when he had found the eight-point Heavenly herb, and with the Goblin Revolver, his mind was drawn to the shrub, though there was little to no pain this time.

  Dean took a testing step forward and slowly removed his hat. He could just tell it was waiting for its chance to pounce. If he ran as fast as he could and did not stop to look back, he might make it to the campsite where he hoped to find help. Aside from the hostile presence emanating from the thing, it looked like a normal, if very large, bush. But it slowly began to roll forward, and Dean took another step back. If it had not been for Dean’s newly heightened senses, he would not have noticed the second bush stalking up behind him – if a bush was capable of stalking. But a bean? A bean could most definitely stalk.

  Dean dove forward at the same moment as the two Rumbleweeds made their move. He kicked up dirt as he rolled, barely skimming beneath the monster as it leaped toward him from the front and collided with its brethren, which had attempted the same maneuver from behind. Launching to his feet, he bolted down the hillside to the camp, the bushes seeming to have entangled themselves in their initial attack. As a result, Dean had made some decent headway. But a distant memory of watching a video on the web about tumbleweeds reminded him that they can really belt it when they catch the wind. He had no idea how fast a sentient, potentially magical one could go, but he would not risk it all by looking back to see.

  He really regretted looking back. It was right there, right on his heels. It had combined into a bigger, somehow angrier-looking tumbleweed. Once again, he felt a mild twinge behind the eyes as he faced forward again.

  It had transformed and leveled up. Dean still had no idea how to check his status window or anything like that, so he couldn’t be sure, but he did not feel like he was strong enough to take that thing alone. Despite trying on several occasions, he hasn’t been able to activate [Flow] again and didn’t want to waste his precious bullets trying to harm what was, for all intents and purposes, a tangle of thistles. There was no ‘core’ or any weak point to target either. He proposed to use Shiela but didn’t want to risk getting so close if he could avoid it. Instead, in a moment of subjective brilliance, he thought to lead the creature to the campfire. If he could set it on fire, it might just burst into flames. With no opportunity for a peer review nor any better ideas, Dean took an abrupt turn, zigzagging toward the camp. He leaped across the creek before darting to the fire, narrowly avoiding a lunge from the Rough-and-Tumbleweed. The monster jolted and squirmed as it passed into the creek, giving Dean time to catch a breath and collect his thoughts. It was then he noticed that the sentient shrub was pulsating, its gangly twigs and boughs growing visibly thicker. Its thistles were now sharper and barbed. It was using the creak to strengthen itself. With a flash of realization, Dean understood. Water nourishes Wood.

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  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Dean heard the scream behind him, but he jumped in shock anyway. Stepping cautiously around the firepit, attempting to keep it between himself and the Rough-and-Tumbleweed as it continued to feed off the energies provided by the brook, he managed to catch a glimpse of the one who screamed. It was a young girl, maybe eight or nine, and a young boy beside her, roughly the same age. They had poked their heads out from the partition of the caravan’s canvas covering to see what was going on, and having caught Dean’s gaze, they had sunk back inside with a little yelp. Now Dean had to fight to protect himself and the children. The prompt flashed again, bringing his full attention back to the humongous bush.

  The Thistle-Sage lashed out at him, its new vine-like appendages undulating with anticipation. Its main body was now about 15 feet tall and the same around; the previously spindly twigs had adjoined into branches that were as thick as Dean’s arms, causing them to look like a living baseball bat with that barbed-wire-wrap-around. He dodged back, easily avoiding the cumbersome strike as it fell short, crashing into the fire. It reeled back from the smoldering coalbed, knocking the tripod and sending the pan resting there along with its contents to the ground. Dean would have to mourn the loss of his potential breakfast later. He burst forwards, drawing the revolver he kept tucked in his belt, cocking and firing off a shot all just over a second. He had never fired a gun before a few days ago but had spent some of his downtime practicing his quick draw, and he thought he was getting quite good. He had only practiced dry firing, as he did not want to waste what little ammunition he had. However, he had heard that dry firing was bad for guns, so he did it sparingly in case he damaged the apparently tumultuous firearm.

  The projectile had been some kind of birdshot, causing a cloud of splinters to erupt as a few branches were hit at once. Dean suspected so, but it didn’t cause any real harm. He lurched sideways to avoid another swipe from the monster’s tendril, missing his face, but managed to snag on his revolver, flinging it from his grasp. Rolling back to evade a follow-up from the same extremity, Dean deftly snatched a hatchet that laid by the pile of firewood across from the tent and rose back to his feet. Fear began to rise as he realized he would need to get close and rose further, knowing he had no idea how to fight without the assistance of [Flow], but knowing he had to protect those kids steeled his resolve.

  The monster, deciding it would no longer hunker down in the creak, began to heave itself onto the bankside and into the campsite proper, swatting at Dean as it did so and causing a glancing blow. While Dean’s senses had quite significantly heightened after consuming the 8-point Heavenly herb, his reflexes seem to have only marginally improved. The Thistle-Sage writhed in ecstasy as it finally drew blood. With assurance, it attempted a new tactic, launching its elongated barbed mass directly at Dean like a spear. The first stabbed out and quickly withdrew as it missed by a hair’s breadth. Wary of the new maneuver, Dean moved more cautiously after receiving the first hit. As the next attack rocketed out, Dean slipped into the now muddy earth. Quickly rolling over, he felt the rush of wind and thud as he escaped the impending impalement. Rising to his feet once more, he saw his opportunity as it presented itself to him. He lifted the hatchet overhead with a double-handed swing, feeling every muscle in his body, from his firmly planted legs up into his tensed core, shoulders, arms, and then hands, as he brought the axe down on the grounded limb with a mighty roar.

  The creature recoiled, letting out a pained sound, like the cracking of a falling tree but filled with emotion. Enraged, its remaining arms whipping around chaotically, it moved in on Dean, attempting to overwhelm him. Without the reflexes to match his senses, Dean took a strike to the shoulder, knocking him down and dislocating his right arm. He screamed as pain coursed through his body. The sleeve of his jacket was now tattered, and blood ran freely, dripping from his fingers. Another blow struck as he attempted to clamber to his feet, sending him face-first into the bloodied mud. A brambled vine wrapped tightly around his ankle as he began to whimper. He felt lightheaded. The last attack struck him across the head and back. His right hand was numb, and his fingers tingled. He thrashed as the Thistle-Sage dragged him into its body, enveloping him in its wicked embrace. It hurt so much, but he was so tired that it felt distant. He felt guilty; he couldn’t help those kids; he tried so hard.

  This always seemed to happen; every time he really applied himself to something, really tried, he’d fail. Time and time again. That’s why he was in that shitty job and didn’t start his own business. He was afraid he’d fail. That’s why he always said he didn’t want kids. He was afraid he’d fail. He was so scared to fail that he never truly tried anymore. There was another scream and crying. He wasn’t sure if it was coming from him or not. No, he couldn’t fail those kids; no matter what, he would not let them face this fate. With every ounce of willpower and strength he could muster, he pushed forward. He could feel the skin on his left arm flay as he pulled Sheila from its sheath. He pushed forward. He forced his eyes open, the barbs terrifyingly close to his eyes, and he saw it. It was a roiling miasma of coalesced putrid energy. It was a monster core. His knife was pressed firmly against it, but Thistle-Sage tightened its embrace, and Dean nearly passed out. It was unbearable, yet he pushed forward. The knife was so heavy in his hands, but he gripped it tight. With a final burst of strength, he pushed forward. The blade glowed and punctured the core. With a wail so loud it reverberated through Dean’s skull, the monster fell apart, leaving Dean on the muddy bank of the creak. With a smile on his face, Dean fell into unconsciousness.