Famous last words?
Ben looked around. “Really? So what’s eating the grass? It should be chest high here.”
“I don’t think anything’s eating the grass,” said Morgan. He kicked at the ground at his feet. “I think something’s been cutting it.”
Ben joined him to take a look. In the dirt was what looked like rough-cut grass, at every stage of decay from new-mowed to peaty sludge. The grass wasn’t exactly cut evenly, either; it had been sliced up with power but not much precision. After a moment, Ben said, “Well. Maybe one of the automowers is still working?”
“Maybe?” said Morgan. “But only if it had gotten enchanted somehow. Anything like that should be long out of juice.”
“What kind of enchantment?”
“I don’t know. You’re the wizard, Ben.”
“Crap, yeah, I am. Awkward, because I don’t have a clue.”
“God, that’s like the motto of the 22nd Century,” said Morgan. “You think it’d be dangerous?”
“They weren’t designed to be, so: yeah, a rogue automower would have to be totally dangerous now.” Ben said. “On the bright side: look at the trees.” The wizard pointed at the foliage. “See how they don’t look trimmed? Whatever it is that’s cutting the grass, at least it doesn’t have much range.”