Acorn had now dug a hole big enough for him to fit his head through. The real question was if it would fit the rest of his body.

“Good luck with that one,” his little parasite said, and Acorn was certain the last word was nearly going to be say ‘fatass’ but it didn’t want to compromise its cool body-positive image. But it didn’t matter what anyone had to say at this moment. He had to either fit through this hole or die.

And the hole was tight. It felt impossibly small. “Fuck,” he squeaked, feeling the particulates in the dirt scratching against his neck skin. His back legs scrambled against nothing, struggling to propel himself forward, twist himself impractically.

“Haha, hole,” Cornflower chuckled to itself.

“WE ARE LITERALLY DYING! STOP BEING GROSS!”

“Or what? You’re gonna tear me into shreds again?”

Acorn would slam his head into his paws with frustration if he even could, but his head was completely stuck now. He was stuck.

“Fine,” his other grumbled. He could feel the appendages at the top of his head begin to curl against the dirt, pulling it aside, clearing more room for him. He breathed a sigh of relief the moment his throat was loose enough to allow air through.

They both dug, now, scratching and pulling. The other side was in their reach! He felt the cold air hit his paws, and he spread his digits apart as the sweet relief poured over him.

And now his head was on the other side, and he could see the outside world again, and he used the last of his energy to push his legs all the way through, and then everything went black.