Jason Weiser

Thinking that he could probably workshop that one a bit, and wondering just how many people were trapped in the form of animals, Timber Top took his first and last bite of grass.

Because it was grass.

Grass tastes bad.

He did notice a ring of mushrooms growing near the pole.

Now, Timbertop knew you don't eat wild mushrooms.

They could be fatal.

But these were extenuating circumstances.

His first preference was not dying at all.

His last one was being slaughtered by this jerk who bought him and then feeding the man's family.

If he could eat these mushrooms, not be hungry, and die from spite, and mushrooms, well, that was a happy medium.

Timbertop ate the mushrooms.

He could only get one or two and, after he swallowed, began to feel something.

A rumbling, but also a quaking and quivering in his chest and limbs.

Then he dropped.

In a moment, he was a human again.

Wanting to marvel, he first got that ring out of his nose because, ow, and then, overcome with joy, he studied his hands and arms.

Realizing that he was crouching naked, Timbertop did a nude bow in all directions to the dokebi, thanking them for turning him back, and scrambled off toward the forest.

Then, a fresh idea in his normally timber-packed

head, Timbertop braved the twilight to go scoop up as many of the mushrooms that were there.

He had an idea.