Bonesplinter Ravine puppets with their strings cut

She was probably more interested in his stories than he was of hers.  These lands didn't have much to tell her, though she had plenty from Redstone.  Still, this guy didn't seem, uhh, like he had all of his crayons in the same box, and she didn't know really how long she wanted to stick around.

Story for story?  That's fine by me.  The gears in her head turn for a second before she settles upon one.

I settled in with a group of boys in a canyon somewhere down south before I came here.  They were a rowdy bunch, but usually they meant well.  Anyway, we had a get-together one night and one of the boys takes out these mushrooms.  She hadn't yet had her experience with them, and she hadn't stuck around when this had happened either, but a story told thirdhand wasn't as cool.

Most of them backed out and left, and a few of us stayed sober.  Like me.  But the other boys, the ones who did them, started seeing things.  Like, ghosts and stuff.  Most of them sobered up in the morning, but one boy saw them forever.

Weird shit, if you asked her.  Anyway, that probably wasn't the best story, was it?  She'd honestly led a pretty boring life.  Umanyway, she says, that was much cooler when it happened than when I.. told the story.  There went every bit of credibility and intimidation she'd held.  What an idiot.  So uh, pirates, huh?