Apollo looked towards the chortle with his blindspot.
He saw a decrepit old man.
The old man was wearing a robe with countless tears and holes. He had a bad hunch, making him look short.
One of his eyes had a bad purple bruise. The eyelid had sunk in because the eye behind it was a small pile of mush.
Half of the old man's teeth were missing while the ones that remained were yellow and chipped.
Once Apollo looked at him with his blindspot, the old man jumped.
His chortles turned to silence as he ducked behind a tree.
The old man peeked over and saw Apollo.
"Ah, not a gardener."
Apollo raised an eyebrow.
"What is a gardener?"
The old man stepped out from behind the tree with a chortle.
"They are the things that consume the living things they find and turn them into part of the black mist. This mist is what the trees use to survive."
Apollo raised an eyebrow.
