Chapter Two – The Return of Agi
Shiitake was the first to notice the flicker of red and white darting between the trees. At first, he thought it might be the forest playing tricks again — another echo or half-memory. But then he heard the laugh.
“Agi,” he said, almost smiling.
From behind a patch of speckled parasol leaves, the unmistakable figure of Agi burst into view — cap tilted to one side, her red cloak flaring behind her like a flag. She skidded to a stop in front of the group, cheeks glowing with excitement.
“Shiitake! Portobello! You’ve started without me!”
“We didn’t start,” Portobello replied, “we just… wandered.”
Boogie gave a friendly wave. “Hey, I remember you! You were at the dance contest! You’re from the Fly Agaric tribe, right?”
Agi nodded with a grin. “And we’re still the most dramatic fungi in the forest.”
Behind her, two other Fly Agaric mushrooms appeared — one tall and dreamy-looking, the other shorter and humming a tune. Their caps shimmered like lacquered red velvet dotted with white sugar pearls.
“You’re not just here for fun, I take it?” Shiitake asked.
Agi’s expression shifted. “No. We’ve felt it too. The fading. Our grove’s music has quieted. The dreams have gone… thin. Something’s not right.”
The group fell silent.
Groove finally spoke. “It’s happening everywhere. Spores that don’t drift. Mycelium that won’t sing. The forest’s memory is… fading.”
Chanterelle looked up at the canopy, where the Sporalight Tree’s glow had once danced. Now it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat too weak to move blood.
Portobello unrolled his moss-map and pointed to a circle etched into its fabric. “There’s an old gathering place. The Place of Patterned Stones. All the tribes used to meet there before the rituals fell away. If there’s still a connection, it’s there.”
Hera, calm and imposing as ever, nodded. “It’s a place of balance. If the forest still remembers how to remember… that’s where we’ll find the key.”
Shiitake turned to Agi. “Are you with us?”
Agi didn’t hesitate. “Of course. The Fly Agaric tribe always shows up — dramatically late, but right on time.”
The Mushroom Men set off again, now one tribe stronger, heading toward the forgotten circle of stone and song, where stories once lived in the soil.
To be continued…
The Mushroom Men of Misilania Volume Three – When the Soil Forgot Chapter Two – The Return of Agi
Shiitake was the first to notice the flicker of red and white darting between the trees. At first, he thought it might be the forest playing tricks again — another echo or half-memory. But then he heard the laugh.
“Agi,” he said, almost smiling.
From behind a patch of speckled parasol leaves, the unmistakable figure of Agi burst into view — cap tilted to one side, her red cloak flaring behind her like a flag. She skidded to a stop in front of the group, cheeks glowing with excitement.
“Shiitake! Portobello! You’ve started without me!”
“We didn’t start,” Portobello replied, “we just… wandered.”
Boogie gave a friendly wave. “Hey, I remember you! You were at the dance contest! You’re from the Fly Agaric tribe, right?”
Agi nodded with a grin. “And we’re still the most dramatic fungi in the forest.”
Behind her, two other Fly Agaric mushrooms appeared — one tall and dreamy-looking, the other shorter and humming a tune. Their caps shimmered like lacquered red velvet dotted with white sugar pearls.
“You’re not just here for fun, I take it?” Shiitake asked.
Agi’s expression shifted. “No. We’ve felt it too. The fading. Our grove’s music has quieted. The dreams have gone… thin. Something’s not right.”
The group fell silent.
Groove finally spoke. “It’s happening everywhere. Spores that don’t drift. Mycelium that won’t sing. The forest’s memory is… going.”
Chanterelle looked up at the canopy, where the Sporalight Tree’s glow had once danced. Now it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat too weak to move blood.
Portobello unrolled his moss-map and pointed to a circle etched into its fabric. “There’s an old gathering place. The Place of Patterned Stones. All the tribes used to meet there before the rituals fell away. If there’s still a connection, it’s there.”
Hera, calm and imposing as ever, nodded. “It’s a place of balance. If the forest still remembers how to remember… that’s where we’ll find the key.”
Shiitake turned to Agi. “Are you with us?”
Agi didn’t hesitate. “Of course. The Fly Agaric tribe always shows up — dramatically late, but right on time.”
The Mushroom Men set off again, now one tribe stronger, heading toward the forgotten circle of stone and song, where stories once lived in the soil.
To be continued…
Image Description:
A magical twilight forest clearing surrounds the focal point — the Sporalight Tree, a tall, elegant tree with bioluminescent branches that faintly glow a soft blue and lavender. Its roots twist across the mossy ground, but the light from its branches appears dimmed and flickering, suggesting something is wrong.
Gathered around the tree in a semi-circle are eight anthropomorphic mushroom characters, each distinct in shape and style, standing upright with arms, legs, and expressive faces. From left to right:
* Boogie and Groove (the Funky Fungi) have vibrant caps and energetic postures, with Boogie mid-gesture as if just finishing a dance move.
* Button is small and curious-looking, peeking around one of the larger mushrooms.
* Chanterelle has a graceful, bell-shaped cap with frilled edges.
* Agi, from the Fly Agaric tribe, wears a flowing red cloak and has a bold red cap with white spots — she stands proudly but alert.
* Portobello has a round, firm cap and is consulting a moss-map.
* Shiitake, serious and focused, stands slightly ahead of the others, leading the group.
* Hera, from the Lion’s Mane tribe, has a striking mane of white tendrils that flow down like a beard, giving him a wise and ancient appearance.
The forest is dim and atmospheric, with long tree trunks stretching upward and fog drifting between them. Faint spores float in the air like glowing dust. There’s a sense of magic and tension, as if something old is stirring in the soil beneath their feet.
The overall tone is one of quiet unity, fading magic, and the beginning of a serious journey.
Blind Man Makes 