They took lichen and fungi from the shady grove and found excuses to brush against each other as they walked. When they crossed a small creek, the woman splashed Ray with water. When her back was turned, he dropped mushroom caps down her dress. They spoke nothing of the world beyond, only what they experienced at that moment. He learned that she loved the feeling of the sun on her skin more than anything, and that the rustle of leaves sounded like the voices of her loved ones. She learned that he treasured stillness and thought long-petaled flowers were very elegant.

"Like your fingers," Ray added without thinking. He felt terrible for drawing attention to her most unusual feature, and he feared that he had ruined everything, but she was not offended. If anything, she seemed pleased. Still, he decided to change the subject by pointing to plants, naming them in Latin, and saying whatever triviality came to mind: unique structures in flowers and leaves, the plant's role in the local ecosystem, or their country of origin. She was kind about it. After six plants, he realized that he had taught her nothing that she did not already know.

They stepped into a bright clearing. There were no trees to obscure the sun hanging overhead, just a few prickly shrubs.

"What time is it?" Ray asked.

"Looks like a little after noon," she said. It did.

"That can't be."

"If you argue with the sun, you'll lose every time."

A patch of brambles lay before them. She did not seem to notice. 

"Be careful!" Ray said.

"Of what?" She stepped through the brambles. Her bare feet were unharmed. For that matter, so were the brambles.

"How are your feet not killing you?"

"How are your feet not suffocating in those... things?"

"What, shoes?"

Dread Girl wriggled her toes. "I enjoy feeling the soil beneath me."

"You like feeling brambles and pine cones and sharp rocks, too?"

"We have an arrangement. Now, would you like to help me find this mushroom, or do you want to keep checking out my legs?"

"Yes?"

She stuck out her tongue. "It's called Golden Bough."

"I don't know that one."

"It grows only in dark places. This is a dark place."

"It is?" Ray took out his sketchpad and half a colored pencil. "Maybe you'd better tell me what Golden Bough looks like."

"You are an artist?" she asked.

"Not really. I just draw trees and insects." He flipped a few pages in the sketchpad to show her. 

When he stopped, she grabbed it from him and flipped through the rest. "Where are the others?"

"What others?"

"White fringetree."

"How did you know I drew white fringetree?"

"You said it was your favorite."

"You said it wasn't yours," Ray said, feeling rather like a television detective.

Her eyes flickered sideways. "True. But if it's your favorite, those drawings are probably your best. So I would like to see them."

"I left them back at work."

She pressed the sketchpad back into his hands. "Bring them next time."

"Next time?" Ray resisted the urge to spike his sketchpad and do a victory dance.

"The caps grow in clusters, like leaves on a bough. No, smaller. More round. Yes, that's close." She had him correct the drawing until she was satisfied. "Just like that. But golden, of course"

They searched the clearing together for a time. How long, he could not say, but he needed a break. He sat on one of the stumps that he'd flipped on its side to look beneath. "What does this mushroom do, exactly?"

"Golden Bough reconciles men with the Green."

Ray pinched a phantom joint between his thumb and forefinger. "You like the green?"

"It's not just 'OK.' I can't live without it."

"I hear that."

She stretched her arms out, welcoming the noonday sun. "The Green connects every living being in the world. Even across worlds."

"Yep." Across worlds? He couldn't believe his luck. A fellow psychonaut!

"It's an amazing gift. A chance at perfect harmony. Why squander that by raising walls against shared consciousness?"

"I know, right?" Time to recognize we got to legalize, he thought.

"Men want to fight what they should embrace. Powerful men. Their ignorance gives them strength."

"Those assholes."

She chided him gently. "Even if they forget the Green, they're still part of it. Part of us. We have to remember for them."

"They're still our brothers," Ray conceded.

"Sometimes I want to forget. They cause so much suffering that it's hard to forgive them."

"Those assholes."

Her eyes grew distant. "I think of it like a flame. Or a cancer. You don't hate a flame for burning or a cancer for growing. It's all they know. You snuff it out, or cut it out, and move on to the next crossroads. How can you hate someone for doing all they know? But I do sometimes." 

"It's okay," Ray put his hand on her shoulder. 

She gripped it tightly, as she had at the owl's funeral. He ignored the pain. The anguish on her face concerned him more. "There are so many flames," she said, "and so many cancers. I am tired." She slumped, and he thought that she might fall.

Ray held her upright with a hug. "You lost someone recently, didn't you. To cancer, I mean."

With her cheek pressed against his, she whispered, "They suffered for a long time. They burned up inside. It's my fault."

"That isn't true. It's cancer's fault."

She stepped back so she could look him in the eye. "You knew about all of this?"

Ray shook his head. "Not like you do. But I know cancer causes suffering, and I know the green helps."

"Do you know what I do?" 

"You're obviously not from around here. You spend a lot of time on the road, right? You do whatever needs to be done to fight cancer and promote the green. You put out fires."

"That doesn't frighten you?"

"No way. I respect hardcore activists. But I don't know if I could do what you do. Maybe if—"

She cut him off. "That's not what I want from you."

"What do you want from me?"

She looked as though she were going to say something, then turned away. Moments later, she said, "The caps grow in clusters, like leaves on a bough."

Her mood improved in what seemed like only a few minutes. Ray couldn't be sure because the sun still hadn't moved. She was picking wildflowers and placing them in her basket. 

Ray continued searching for the Golden Bough. "I've been thinking. When you say Golden Bough 'reconciles' men to the green, do you mean that it makes them feel less paranoid?"

"Hm?"

"You know, more open. Less afraid."

"You're very clever for a man."

"No need to make this about sex," Ray said.

She quirked her eyebrow. 

He coughed. "Gender. No need to make this about gender."

"I didn't."

Ray flipped a flat stone over to look beneath it. "Well, if we ever find this Golden Bough, I'd like to try it. Thanks for the help, by the way."

She sat next to the stone, weaving wildflowers in her basket. "You're already open and unafraid. And it could kill you."

"Well, you're going to take it."

She shook her head "I've never taken Golden Bough. It has a special purpose. It is not for me and not for you. Besides, we aren't going to find any today."

"What?" Ray asked.

"It won't appear until it's darker. That's why I stopped looking. I've been making this." She held up a crown of flowers.

"Were you planning on telling me?"

"I thought you were enjoying yourself. I didn't want to spoil it."

Ray looked back across the clearing. Many stones and many fallen logs were tipped on their sides, each bearing bloodstains from his hand. His back hurt, he was thirsty, and his efforts to hide his armpit stains from her were doomed, but it had been fun. "You know what? I'm not even mad. If mushrooms are out, do you want to smoke a bowl together sometime?"

"I don't like smoke."

"No problem," Ray said, "I'll bring some brownies."

She clapped her hands in delight. "I love brownies!"

"You're going to love my recipe!" 

"Your recipe?" she asked. 

Ray couldn't read her expression. Did she doubt that he could bake? "It's technically Byron's recipe. But you're going to love how these brownies taste. You're going to want to eat them in one bite."

"In one bite?"

"Yep!" Ray chomped at the air.

She pointed her finger at him sternly. "I would NEVER."

"Of course not." Ray sucked in his stomach. "Me neither. That'd be gross. I was joking."

"A cruel joke." She was trembling.

"I hear you. I'm sorry." Eating disorder, he thought? She looked perfectly healthy to him. Athletic, even. Maybe she was just a disciplined eater.

"You should be."

Ray waited a while for her to speak again. When she did not, he said, "I better get back to work before my boss kills me."

She picked up her basket and marched over to him. "Do you think you've lost my favor?"

"I don't like that question."

"Do you think me fickle?" she asked. 

Ray liked that question even less. "You're a little intense. And I feel like I keep saying the wrong thing."

"Yes. Your tongue says cruel, stupid things."

"Ouch."

"But," she said.

"But what?" Ray asked.

She thumped him in the chest. "You have a heart of oak, and it loves the Green."

"That's my sternum."

"Tongue. Shh." She pressed her finger to his lips, then took his hand. "I'll walk you back. Should we hurry?"

His heart raced. His feet tarried.