Grouse Thicket drinking at a playground, tequila for one

Better than apples?  She offers him a skeptical look, unsure if she can believe him.  She's still so terribly young and naive; she hasn't experienced most of adulthood's finest treasures, but like many other girls her age she believes she's seen it all.

She watches him bend to the earth (already half-impaired, her gaze lingers a beat too long on his legs that stretch on for miles, the moonlight in his dark pelt.  When he faces away from her, for a moment she thinks that he could be Raven.  Her chest tightens for a moment before she concentrates on the roots pulled from the ground.

There was no way  she was ready for whatever this was about to do to her.  She was nervous, but she wasn't about to bitch out in front of this (kind of really attractive) guy.  After he's eaten his share and settled down, he asks her if she's game.

Of course she is.  I'm down for anything, baby, she quips before she grabs the mushrooms and tries to mimic how this strange boy had taken them.  They're earthy and malleable, they fall apart in her mouth easily much to her distaste.  He's right, they're not very good.  She chases them down with an apple.

For a while she felt nothing, and then she was queasy; the world around her seemed to turn (although that was from the alcohol setting in).  But because thirty minutes is a long time and because these are wolves, it didn't take long for her to notice something.

The moonlight was somehow both sharper and more diffused.  It cut the paper moon of the dark stranger's eyes into shards.  It blanketed him in a cloak of moonbeams.  Oh, she breathed silently, taking in the rich blues of the world around her, Wow.  And then all she could do was smile.