Story by Steven C Davis, image by Nimue.

Daucus didn’t think he was cut out to be the Green Man. For one thing, he didn’t know what to do with all the charred and blackened bodies they’d burned for him.

Well. Burned – sort of. None of them were edible, he thought most were dead, but the pervading dampness of Hopeless, Maine made it difficult for anything to truly burn.

He was touched, he’d supposed, and blessed them – well, mumbled some words over those who’d burned the others, in fractured carota, a language no one else seemed to understand, but he seemed to know without having to try.

It wasn’t just the sacrifices, but what was he supposed to do with the offering? They were far larger – and gradually turning greener and soggier than him, and he didn’t have the strength or size to bury them.

He doubted the spoonwalkers would want anything to do with them, and the dust cats were more of a threat to him, psychotic little sneeze-inducing creatures that they were.

As for some of the other inhabitants – well. He was sure the pile was gradually diminishing, and not simply turning to liquid.

How am I actually supposed to bless the crops? And I don’t want to jump over any fire, that sounds like a good way – he shuddered. Daucus turned on his single leg. He’d had multiple trailing toes once, and if he stayed too long in one place – particularly the slowly decomposing pile of semi-burnt, mostly-soggy offering – they tended to regrow at a rapid attitude, always attempting to bury down in the death-deep soggy soil.

He jumped away slowly, his green leaves bobbling and trailing all over the place.

It was a hard life being a God and a carrot.