These confusing words were shouted with a resounding, guttural voice that could only be attributed to the strange tree. “Mycolian? Human? I don’t know what it means or what I’m supposed to be. What are the consequences of being one or the other, and how would I even describe my intentions?” Mortigus contemplated in a rush. His life may be endangered simply by responding wrongfully. Raising a wall of mushrooms usually took a few seconds, but the lack of shade and humidity of the field meant mushrooms would grow severely slower. Mortigus then had to count on running, risking to underestimate his opponent’s reach with those bizarre arms. Or he could perhaps count on conversing with the stranger. The fact the living tree didn’t attack yet was not directly a display of goodwill; the tree could simply be precautious, intending to avoid a trap or needless confrontation, waiting for Mortigus’ reaction. Mortigus did indeed feel the three white eyes fixating on his arms and legs. The tree’s words, however, were certainly the key of this conflict. Merely starting a dialogue showed there was the possibility of a reasonable outcome. The tree had perhaps faced a sort of persecution, being part of either the “human” or the “mycolian” group. Mortigus couldn’t tell which was the safe option, or even the factually correct one. “Mycolian” was a completely unheard of term for him, and the classification of human had no longer fit him for years. What was he supposed to answer without unintentionally lying? The former didn’t seem too likely; after all, the tree had a form so far removed from the realm of humans. Perhaps this was a being that came about in a similar manner to him, calling themselves “mycolian”? Is that the reason the tree didn’t attack yet? A human would most certainly not be calm in the face of an outlandish entity such as Mortigus. Making a run for it would perhaps still be the safest option. In the end, Mortigus’ rationale concluded one thing: making clear that he was not affiliated with humans anymore. After all, that was the closest thing to a truth that he possessed. In the meantime, the tree seemed on edge, the floating weapons being prepared to either crush or block anything coming near the tree. 

  “I have no ties to any humans anymore; I simply used to live in these woods," shouted Mortigus, attempting to keep his tone from getting too aggressive or defensive. He kept his feet firmly in place, fearing not to produce a reaction from the tree. ” I wish you no harm.“   

  “You say you’re here in peace, then stay still as I get a bit closer, such that we can see each other better,” responded the echoing voice of the tree. Three roots started moving the body of the tree, slowly getting closer to Mortigus, cutting the distance between them to around 35 meters. Mortigus did not dare move, only staring at the stranger coming forward, followed by the giant arms. 

   “That body of yours looks Mycolian, yet I can sense something far misplaced in it, tinkered with, removed, and reattached. Is this truly your body, or what may you be hiding?” uttered the tree, or perhaps the giant mushroom. From this closer distance, Mortigus could now tell that the one in front of him was most possibly made of mushrooms just like him. The arms indeed were clearly covered in fungus, and the textures of the stranger’s body greatly resembled Mortigus’ inner arms. “A fellow experiment of the Plague doctors?" he theorised.

  “You look confused, how come you didn’t respond to the term Mycolian? You clearly speak the dialect of the humans from a region not far from here; you must understand this word, unless... ", the stranger winded up one of its arms, preparing a terrifying blow. Before Mortigus could even try to say anything, the stranger planted the arm into the ground with earth-shattering force. A trail of mushrooms, tall enough to reach Mortigus’ knees, suddenly sprouted from the crater of the fist, hastily growing towards Mortigus in a straight line. Paralysed by fear and uncertainty, Mortigus stood still for exactly the two seconds it took for the mushroom to grow over the 35-meter distance, now reaching his feet. A sudden growth was followed by their abrupt explosion of spores, covering Mortigus’ face. He flinched, temporarily blinded, as he made a motion from his neck and lower jaw, mimicking a sneezing tick despite his non-existent nose. Mortigus ignored his impaired vision, throwing his hands to the ground, stealing control of the already-grown mushrooms, and forming a wall between him and the stranger, high enough to fully cover his silhouette.  
  “Wait!” shouts the tree again, now slightly desperate. They launched one of the arms forward, trying to catch Mortigus, who used the created opportunity to flee away. Mortigus moved as fast as he could to the forest but was suddenly startled when a massive force flew by him. The giant arm already outran and arrived in front of Mortigus, grabbing his left leg before he could even attempt to dodge. With little reservation, Mortigus prepared himself to rip out the captured leg and continue his retreat, his hands now pushing against the giant fingers while his left leg began to stretch and small tears popped up in the skin. 

  “Wait, there is no need to sacrifice a leg, and no need to run!” urged the stranger, who started walking towards Mortigus. The giant arm released the captive leg in a fast motion, after which it dispersed into the wind, the mushrooms rotting into dust in mere seconds. Mortigus fell on his feet sluggishly, feeling slight pain in the exhorted leg. His eye immediately jumped to the stranger, the distance between them having been reduced to just 10 meters. The imposing “tree” stood in the way of the shining sun, its shadow wrapping around Mortigus. At this range, he pondered whether it was wiser to run or attempt to hit the tree, but his fright overwhelmed his system beyond any proactive actions. 

  "Please calm down a bit. I now understand you are no human hunter wearing the body of our brethren. The spores I used can put to sleep any creature except a fellow Mycolian. I’m sorry for startling you and for the unnecessary aggression. At a closer look, you are Mycolian, after all. Yet I can’t help but feel uneasy at your sight.” The stranger’s voice had gained a calmer, more composed tone, almost soothing, but the veins in Mortigus’ head were beating too hard for his mind to process such details. As they glanced at each other for a bit, “the tree” decided to press forward with the conversation:

   “I also wish you no harm; I am sorry for earlier. My precaution certainly went too close to hostility. Introductions are in order: my name is Arbero, the one thousand-year-old Mycolian of this region. What is yours?”

  “I am... Mortigus. I don’t necessarily know my age; I can only say it’s around 30 years old.'' responded Mortigus in a shrivelled voice. He tried to let his tensed-up body relax a little. It was better to keep his guard up, but at the same time he should try to be nonchalant. “What is a Mycolian, exactly?”

  Arbero's expression grew increasingly perplexed, even with their minimal facial features. Their voice carried an ethereal quality, effortlessly reaching Mortigus’ ears without the need for a mouth. Their head was marked only by a pair of three eyes on the lined head, with a seemingly thinner neck than the top of their head, contrasted by the thick, top-heavy body to which a trio of thin, flexible legs were attached. This stranger stood more than a head above Mortigus, their intimidating presence starting to dawn on the hyper-attentive Mortigus. 

  “One of us so young and even untaught; you truly do not know of your own species?” asked Arbero, with a growing distrust in his tone. “Mortigus, it is imperative to continue our discussion, but let us first move out of the open. Will you follow me to my teritory?”.

  Hearing Arbero’s request, Mortigus stalled for a few moments. Against better judgement, he agreed, enthralled by the prospect of the answer held by Arbero. The two walked in uneasy silence across the field, heading toward the edge of the forest that paralleled Mortigus' own. His muscles remained tense, and his heart pounded with uncertainty, every step heightening his sense of unease. Yet something deep within him instructed him to put a bit of trust in this stranger, a fellow mushroom monster, or perhaps a fellow “Mycolian”. 

   "Your human silhouette is rather peculiar, Mortigus," Arbero remarked after they reached a couple of stumps, gesturing for Mortigus to sit down beside them. Mortigus carefully accepted the invitation. As they both sat down on lumps of trees, with a few meters between them, Arbero continued: "The term Mycolian refers to us, the mushroom folk, but you’re not purely a Mycolian, are you?"

  Mortigus dithered, dreading the question and the memories it stirred of his transformed body. He could only imagine how Arbero might react if he revealed the truth—would this short truce dissolve, forcing him to flee again? He took a brief pause, eyeing the creature up and down, but he could not feel any clear hostility. Though both shared an awkward trait—a lack of mouths or cheeks on blank faces, overreliant on their eyes to convey any hint of expression. Despite his hesitations, he decided to respond honestly:

  “I am human, or I used to be, or a part of me is still one. I don’t understand for sure. This body was constructed by a group of Plague Doctors and forced onto me as a <<cure>>. I didn’t choose to be a <<Mycolian>>, to be changed like this.”
  "That's rather fascinating! And disturbing. To think the Plague Doctors would do such an experiment is quite baffling. I can’t imagine-” Arbero stopped for a second, detecting the fraught look of Mortigus. “We can discuss the details later if it’s more... comfortable for you. I want to make it now clear: I do not disconsider you nor blame you for what happened to you. In this moment, you are very close to a Mycolian, and I shall treat you like brethren. If that doesn’t feel too sudden, at least.”

  Mortigus found a silent yet profound joy in those words, as he decided to let his guard down a little bit more. After decades of dreading what others might think of him, such a warm reaction felt almost undeserved—strange, yet undeniably comforting. Finally taking a moment to relax, Mortigus started noticing the peculiar air of this forest. Despite being so close to the patch he’d lived in, this new environment was far more humid, with mushrooms spread across all trees, while the air was mixed with pollen and woody scents. The light seemed to fall more gently in between the trees, in a manner that could be felt but not seen. The lack of bird songs and leaf crumpling was rather uncommon, perhaps Mortigus was an unwelcome presence there. Arbero modelled this forest in a thousand years, perhaps? Not that Mortigus could properly imagine the length of such a life and what it would bear. For a second, he questioned the possibility of him reaching such a milestone before Arbero broke the silence:
  “Mortigus, I hope you can get comfortable here. I would like to talk more, to see what you know and what you need to know. I think I can aid you in learning about being  Mycolians. Your circumstances are very peculiar; not that mine would count as normal, but I hope you see that mutual understanding could help us trust each other. Or is 'trust' too ambitious, given how intense our encounter was just moments ago?"

  “I’m willing to give it a chance. I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to someone for a long time. And you seem to know a lot about what I am—far more than what I know,“ responded Mortigus, murmuring his last few words.

  Arbero reignited the conversation by asking Mortigus for more details about his ordeal with the Doctors, under the pretext of better understanding the extent of what his body had endured. At first, Mortigus averted his gaze, his large eye fixating anywhere but ahead, remaining silent for several moments. Just as Arbero was about to steer the conversation elsewhere, Mortigus clenched his hands and finally responded:

  “My memory still feels foggy, scrappy. It’s a bit much to ask me so directly after saying this topic could wait."

  “I apologise”. Mortigus tensed up a little at Arbero’s words, the Mycolian noticing this slight reaction but continuing to speak. “I cannot deny that my worry for you and my curiosity made me too pushy. I think-”

  “You can stop," Mortigus said, interrupting Arbero. “I didn’t expect to feel so reluctant despite it all happening such a long time that passed. It annoys me, to be frank.”

    Arbero made a short sound in an attempt to interrupt Mortigus, but he dismissed it in an abrupt tonal change. “I will make the effort to remember as much of my past as possible, but in exchange, I want answers. You offered your knowledge before; I will want to hear your own story. Agreed?” Arbero blinked with all their eyes at the same time, then reluctantly nodded in agreement. 

   Arbero hesitated, as if weighing their words carefully, unsure whether to press Mortigus further or to let the tension dissipate. The silence stretched out, filled with the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of insects, until Mortigus shifted his stance, his gaze momentarily flicking back to the mushroom elder. The two stretched their arms and shook their hands clumsily. The weight of the earlier conversation hung between them, unresolved but not unwelcome.

 "I think I’ll stop in your forest for the night, if you don’t mind. It seems like food and shelter won’t be hard to sort out. I’d prefer to go foraging for a bit now," said Mortigus, his voice flat.

 "Of course... but you know, I’d be happy to host you! I have a small place nearby, and as for food, there’s no need to gather tonight—I’ve got plenty stored," Arbero replied gently. But noticing Mortigus' distant tone, they quickly added, "Though if you'd rather forage, go ahead. I won’t try to hinder you."

 “That’s not the main issue,” Mortigus thought as he scanned the darkening forest. His mind raced, tangled between the need for solitude and the unfamiliar comfort of Arbero's presence. He wasn’t ready to gift his trust so easily, but something about the old mushroom being’s calmness kept him from pulling away. The silence thickened, neither awkward nor easy, but it gave Mortigus a moment to breathe. After some deliberation, Mortigus agreed to visit Arbero’s abode for the night, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.