From here, he can see at least three shoggoths. The intersections
of their watered-milk bodies reflect the light in rainbow bands.
The colorful fruiting stalks nod some fifteen feet in the air, swaying
in a freshening breeze.
From the greatest distance possible, Harding reaches out and prods
the largest shoggoth with the flat top of his hammer. It does nothing
in response. Not even a quiver.
He calls out to the fisherman. “Do they ever do anything when they’re