I'm starving to death.

If my stomach grumbles any louder, I think I might literally wake the dead. I don't say anything, though, as I trudge behind Peter. I hate complainers, and he can hear my thoughts--and my growling stomach--anyway.

We've been walking for a little over two hours, through grove after grove of tall, twisted trees. The way Peter said 'faerie forest' made me think of some place dark and scary, but this tangle of woods is more beautiful than it is anything else.

Bright white light slants between moss covered trees, and there's a carpet of soft grass beneath our feet. The canopy is so thick that it casts the distance in shadow, but no matter how far we go into the forest, there's still light--from the strange sunlight, and from little creatures that flit here and there.

Some look like butterflies or small round lights, others like dragonflies or little birds, but what they really are, I have no idea. They come in every color and all of them glow beautifully, and they seem to exist in every part of the forest. When we first entered, they flitted around the canopy, but in the past half an hour they've come progressively lower. I wonder if they're faeries, but I'm too scared to ask Peter.

He hasn't said a single word to me since we left the falls, and his expression is a closed door. A slammed door, more like.

A little blue butterfly glow-thing flits close to me and I stop walking, holding out a hand in the hopes that it will land and I can better tell what it is. But just as it hovers near my fingers, my stomach growls loudly, scaring it off.

I sigh and look after Peter, only to find him disappearing into the shadows. With a soft cry, I dart after him, my feet aching at every hard step. Glow-creatures swarm away from my clumsy running, leaving the safety of ferns and grass to get out of my way. I mutter apologies and keep on going until I've caught up to Peter, my lungs heaving.

"Wait up!" I tell him, trying to catch my breath as I hunch over, hands on my knees.

He stops walking and shoots me a sidelong glance that could be anything from indifferent to annoyed. I frown at him.

"Look, I'm sorry," I say, the words more petulant than I'd like.

Peter sighs, looking through the trees. "It's not much farther."

I straighten and peer at him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He's finally talking, it seems. "What isn't?"

"The mushroom field," he says, as if I should already know.

"The what?"

Peter waves a hand. "It's just a landmark. Don't worry about it." I open my mouth to question him further, but he shakes his head and asks, "Are you good?"

I close my mouth and nod once.

Without another word, Peter starts walking again, leaving me to follow. Though it takes a lot of self control--which I'm sorely lacking--I do.

Stars, my feet hurt.

And if the 'mushroom field' is just a landmark, why does it matter how close we are to it? My questions--which I'm sure Peter hears--go unanswered. As usual.

"What do you have against questions?" I ask, my voice loud after our silence. Peter sighs heavily.

"Nothing."

"Then why don't you ever answer them?"

"What does it sound like I'm doing?" He tosses an exasperated glance over his shoulder, and I scowl.

"Fine. What's the mushroom field?"

"I told you. It's a landmark."

"So why does it matter--"

"Because it does," he snaps, waving a hand.

And he says he doesn't have a problem with questions. Hah.

"I only take issue with pointless questions," he tells me, and I huff. I don't consider my questions pointless.

"What kinds of questions aren't pointless, then?" I ask, speeding up--despite the pain it causes me--so I can walk beside him.

"The right ones," he says.

I huff again. "Because that's so--"

Peter's hand is suddenly covering my mouth, cutting off my words. I make a muffled sound of protest, which causes him to glare at me. His head is cocked in a way that isn't... human.

And I notice, in the back of my mind, that the little light creatures are gone. The forest is much darker than it was before. In fact, it's almost hard to see.

Suddenly, I'm very afraid.

Peter whispers, his eyes boring into mine, "I'm going to take your hand, and we're going to run, do you understand? Don't look back, and don't make a sound."

I can only nod, my mouth dry, hands shaking. I hope I can hold onto him with my sweaty palms. Peter's fingers--strong, nimble, calloused--close around my own, and then we're running.

It hurts, like my feet are made of bruises, my lungs made of glass. My running is a flop, and Peter is doing more pulling than guiding, but we're moving.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles and stars, I don't want to know what's back there. But something is there, that much I'm sure of.

I can feel it, like a pressure against my skin, like a buzzing in my ears, like the crawling sensation you get when you know you're being watched.

I'm terrified.

Peter pulls me faster, and I'd swear we're practically flying--in fact, we might be flying, because I can't feel my feet anymore--and the trees begin to thin out around us, light infiltrating the darkness.

Then, between one moment and the next, we're no longer surrounded by trees.

Instead, the large stalks around us are thicker, and multicolored, and... they're mushrooms. Giant mushrooms. Light shines above us from a setting sun, and it seems so... peaceful, compared to the fear still hammering on my ribs. I hunch over, trying to catch my breath, hands on my knees.

Beside me, Peter is still watching the treeline behind us, his body tense.

I straighten, wiping my hands on my jeans, and stare at the forest alongside him. "What was that?" I ask, my voice hushed and ragged. My feet burn and I can't quite breathe properly.

Peter's head whips toward me, green eyes wide, and it's only then that I remember--I'm not supposed to make a sound.

Suddenly he shoves me to the ground--the impact of my knees and hands is jarring, but at least the earth and grass are soft--and I've barely rolled to look at him again when I freeze in terror.

A darkness rises from the treeline, big and menacing and blacker than anything I've ever seen. It wraps around Peter's chest like... like a hand. Like a hand with long claws and six fingers.

I bite my fist to keep from screaming as the darkness drags Peter back into the Faerie Forest and both of them disappear.

Leaving me alone.