Cibelle wandered, barefooted among the bushes.
Around her, the inviting fruit were making the fragile branches bend, but for some reason she was torn at the idea of harvesting the precious loot.
The winter had been harsh, and she wanted to believe that the early offering was a reward. She brushed the tip of her fingers on the bright berries’ skin, her mouth watering.
Just as she was to pick some of the precious sweet beads, a bird dropped dead at Cibelle’s feet.
Turning her back to the bushes, a mysterious growl thundered from the forest.
Safe call, she thought.
I might just be stubborn, given my past fails, but I am giving a shot at the NYC Midnight Challenge, again. This is a practice for the 100-Word Microfiction challenge starting in two weeks. The prompts for this story were Fairy tale or Fantasy / Picking a berry / Torn.