She was bent like a jagged letter C. Her face worn and leathery. With a quick and practiced maneuver, she sliced the amber mold from an overgrown Sitka spruce and dropped it into a leather bag slung around her stomach. Just a few more and she'd have enough. The gummy bear texture of the gelatinous mass balanced out the crunch of collagen and calcium phosphate.
A thought occurred to her as she pushed through a wall of ivy and branches. Maybe it was time to move on from the gingerbread-brown walls caked with buttercream. Time to uproot the sugar cookie trees outlined in neon green icing, shutter the peppermint windows, and pry off the gumdrop shingles. Yes the whole endeavor was so ancient as it was and didn't work too well anymore, she had to admit. Her gnarled hands wiggled their way through a crack in a dead stump and groped the darkness until they found their warty prize. She plopped the carcass in her pouch and continued her slow shuffle through the brush. All that remained was wool of a bat and a few grubby worms for seasoning. She might as well finish her work. No child left behind.