“I don’t think the creature was a possum,” Gabby modified later in after-vision shocks. “Nor was it a cat named Peepee. Something else. Something in our future.”
“Go on,” urged Brother Amos, back to gathering as if his life depended on it. Because it did.
“I’m seeing… I’m seeing…” He briefly pulled up from his own gathering position. “*Seed*.”
“Tillie, we’re out of seed. Time to call Grasslands again.”
“Okay,” the 4 colored clown replies from the garden. “I’ll ring them up as soon as I finish weeding this row.” As if my life depended on it, she then thought. Strange — why did I think that?