The scene in front of us was oddly weird and depressing; in some indefinable way⁠—dreadful. Why, I could not tell, but the impression was plain; I shrank from it. Then, self-analyzing, I wondered whether it could be the uncanny resemblance the heaps of curious mossy fungi scattered about had to beast and bird⁠—yes, and to man⁠—that was the cause of it. Our path ran between a few of them. To the left they were thick. They were viridescent, almost metallic hued⁠—verd-antique. Curiously indeed were they like distorted images of dog and deerlike forms, of birds⁠—of dwarfs and here and there the simulacra of the giant frogs! Spore cases, yellowish green, as large as mitres and much resembling them in shape protruded from the heaps. My repulsion grew into a distinct nausea.

Rador turned to us a face whiter far than that with which he had looked upon the dragon worm.

“Now for your lives,” he whispered, “tread softly here as I do⁠—and speak not at all!”