Once upon a time, there was a mountainous world known as Melpomene. It was vast and beautiful, but bare. Nothing grew, and so the land stayed empty and desolate. Lonely.
That is, until the Mushroom came. This mushroom, with its bright scarlet hat, had been planted and nurtured by a Mountain Spirit, and so was filled with Magic.
Each day, the mushroom squirmed in its bed of ferns, and each day the Magic inside it increased, multiplied, and grew. And so, the mushroom grew too. Eventually, it grew so big that, with a final wriggle, it burst.
Magic shot in every direction, all over Melpomene, and everywhere it landed, something sprouted. Trees, flowers, grass, moss. And mushrooms. These mushrooms bloomed and rooted under rocks and in the labyrinths of tree roots, where they stayed cool and moist underground.
With the lushness came People, who brought along their loyal companions, Dogs. The people rejoiced over the mushrooms, training their dogs to hunt them and teaching their children to cook them. They made stew, sandwiches, juice, and even pie; every year, they had a festival celebrating the abundance of their beloved mushrooms.
But one year, the dogs, when they should have been racing through the forests with their noses pressed to the ground, instead laid panting by their owner’s houses, too hot to move.
It was a Heatwave. The sun beat down on Melpomene, and the heat killed the Magic that had made the mushrooms thrive. Everyone was starving, but there was nowhere to go.
Wren trotted through the woods, her person, Cleo, at her side. The Heatwave had been surging for two Full-Moons now, and Cleo, as the eldest child of nine, had a responsibility to provide for her family. And Wren, as her four-legged friend, had a duty to sniff out mushrooms.
They ventured down an ill-used path, Cleo’s stomach groaning like the tumbling of stones. The ground sighed dust onto Wren’s paws as she trotted. She was a Corgi, and, normally, struggled to keep up with Cleo’s long gait. But not today.
Wren, nose to the dirt, had a scent, rich and earthy. Magic. But it was faint, only the slightest trace buried under all the dust and rocks. If the trail did lead to any mushrooms, they were very far away.
Behind her, Cleo’s feet dragged. She was getting weak. With nine siblings, there was never much to go around, and Cleo often gave her portion of food to the youngest.
“Still have the scent, girl?” she called hoarsely. Wren paused and looked back. Cleo had stopped under a wilted tree, her face pale as the morning mist that hung low over the mountain.
Wren whimpered softly. Cleo wasn’t going to make it to the mushrooms, and certainly didn’t have the strength to dig them up and carry them back.
“Just keep going.” The girl sat down, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I only need a moment, to rest. Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up.”
But Wren couldn’t leave her. You’re too weak to be alone in these woods, she pleaded to her person with sad eyes, nuzzling the girl’s calloused, shaking hand.
“You must stay on the trail. The Forest will be your guide.” Cleo rubbed the Corgi’s ear affectionately. “The village is counting on you.”
******
The forest was much scarier now that Wren was alone. Gnarled branches wrapped their spindly fingers around her coat. Large boulders loomed from atop their precipice perches, glaring down at her. Never had Wren felt so small.
Smaller still was the invisible path she followed. The scent of the mushrooms was growing stronger, but still she had to strain to catch the faintest whiff. The sun rolled down the dome of the sky, nearing the horizon.
She would still be able to follow the trail even without the sun, but what about Cleo? Evil Spirits lurked in the darkness while the sun slept, and Cleo had no way to protect herself.
Suddenly, Wren caught the scent of something different. She closed her eyes, and, still surging forward, focused on the new smell. It was unbelievably intense, overwhelming the previous trail she had been following. The scent vibrated and flashed, as if it were alive. It was Magic, pure Magic.
Wren located its origin within moments. The invisible path led her to a cool, shady spot under an elder tree. With her small paws, she poked frantically at the dirt.
It was a mushroom. A single, unassuming mushroom. Wren had lost a trail potentially leading to a whole cluster, just to find this one. She sat down and glared at it.
It wouldn’t help her village. Not in the slightest. But it could help Cleo. Just one mushroom could provide her with enough energy to make it back home safely.
Wren gently closed her teeth on the mushroom and pulled it up. In her mouth, it wiggled softly. It pulsed.
And it burst.
Suddenly, all Wren could see were lights. Stars. Galaxies.
She heard supernovas exploding, planets creaking as they shifted and orbited. She heard mountains growing, continents rubbing, and whales moaning.
She smelled stardust and dark matter and the very rocks under the earth. And she smelled Magic, Magic everywhere, driving the forces of the universe.
It was all so much, too much. Everything was zooming in and out at rapid speed. She didn’t know where to turn first.
She narrowed down on one scent: Life. Plants and earth, water and air.
She narrowed down on one sound: Haven. Rivers flowing, trees blooming.
And suddenly, she knew. At the base of a mountain, at the south end of Melpomene, was a Paradise. Food was there, and not just mushrooms. People were there, too. She heard their voices, their singing.
It wasn’t just an invisible trail; Wren could see it all perfectly in her head. She could lead the villagers there.
She could give them more than just mushrooms.