Secrets of the Berrywood Mowe

Previously

…“My little ones,” Bramble continued, his voice cracking, “they’re asking for berries, for crisp greens. What am I to tell them, Mowe? That the earth has turned against us?” He gestured wildly towards the fields, a landscape of despair. “The corn stalks are brittle, Mowe. Brittle! They snap at the slightest touch. And the pumpkins…they’re not even growing. They’re just…rotting on the vine.” Mowe’s heart ached. He knew, deep down, what was happening. It was the blight, the same creeping sickness