Heat licking up the dried wood, eating away at the green meat in the middle, the heat has been hungry, traveling for so long without the green to keep it sustained.
Traveling across desert, mountain, swamp, and grassland, searching for the greenest of meat. Aspen is smokier of the four, grass tastes of dew, and termite invested oak of Christmas time and almonds, white spruce fresh pine and toasted cinnamon.
Filling doesn’t last long, my fiery tails and body engulfing the green and drying the wood. The green never lasts long; my snake flames poison the ground, dusting it to ash. Exhausted I slither to a stream and wait for the water to quench my thirst to digest slowly with the green meat of trees.
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