We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
There is a small and strange nature-worship cult that has dedicated itself to freeing vegetables. They appear usually in working pairs or trios, arriving to villages and towns separately and wearing the local garb. For some reason, they have taken to disguising themselves specifically as a scholar, a cooper, and a fisher. At night, they will sneak into backyards and side gardens, digging up household fruits and vegetables. They pile the pilfered plants into a cart and vanish in the night. While the townsfolk wake up to empty gardens, the cultists replant the fruits in the wild to let them be "free".