With his mind running about, Mortigus almost bumped into his host, who stopped for a second in the front of the house before raising one of their legs. The giant mushroom’s textures ripped apart from the centre, giving shape to a door perfectly sized for the imposing figure of Arbero, who stepped inside the damp mushroom house with a casual grace. Enticed by the otherworldly atmosphere, Mortigus followed Arbero inside, almost feeling the house breathing, responding to their arrival. To some extent, the life in these walls was more than palpable, yet Mortigus didn’t question it before when he created and used mushrooms for his own shelter. It was an experience he took for granted, explicitly sharing his senses with his environment as if wearing the house over his own skin, layers created by his body twisting into a toughened shelter. Their footsteps made the house surge softly with a faint, steady white noise. It was clear that this place had been crafted with techniques not dissimilar from Mortigus' but far more polished. It was perhaps a normal thing in the Mycolian culture to live in such visceral constructions, to be one with their environment, in the most literal sense. Mortigus felt a bit of comfort in that notion, already losing a bit of his awkwardness around Arbero; their presence made his oddness feel as though it belonged.

  "I have a spare chamber; it should work nicely as a guest room," blurted out Arbero, attempting the lower voice of a hospitable host. "You can leave your belongings in there too." 

  The two reached a room in the back of the ground floor. The mossy terrain of the floor was visibly untouched. A lump of mushroom flesh in the shape of a crude bed appeared barely out of shape. Mortigus couldn’t complain about the space, despite being barely any bigger than the Plague Doctor’s cell. The room’s damp comfort was inconsequential; Mortigus felt strangely detached, as if the space itself gently resisted his presence. After all, he couldn’t fully trust any shelter that wasn’t his own making. But for one night, he’d attempt to silence his instincts, even if it meant sleeping with one eye open. Mortigus lived alone for so long; it was truly a miracle that he could suppress his solitude, and even his first contact in years turned out to be someone he could hopefully connect to. He knew he should be more suspicious of a stranger, but Mortigus wanted to entertain just for a little longer this chance at belonging and relating. 

   After leaving behind his few travel reserves, Mortigus headed out with Arbero into the woods, Mortigus asking about what trees and plants were growing nearby, the nearest water source, and other questions relating to the resources in Arbero’s forest. While the communication was rather clumsy between the two, given that Mortigus used a frightening amount of regional terms or outright original names for the ingredients he was accustomed to, Arbero was making a clear effort to understand him. Mortigus was reluctant at first at Arbero’s company, but he grew to appreciate it. 

  Soon, Mortigus knelt in a sunny patch of the forest, gathering wild potatoes from the earth, while Arbero paused quietly, simply observing him.

  "I don’t really appreciate an audience that doesn’t offer any help," snapped Mortigus, with a line borrowed from his mother.

  "Oh, sorry, but something caught my eye," responded Arbero in their usual calm voice. "Your knee seems to be bleeding; may I see it?" 

  Arbero reached one of their limbs close to Mortigus' knee, causing Mortigus to flinch. After a moment’s hesitation, Mortigus turned to Arbero and finally allowed them to continue. As Arbero’s limb touched his knee, a weird sensation went through Mortigus, pairs of needles trying to reach his head through his leg, causing Mortigus to jump back. His chest and eye pulsed like a hiccup, making it hard to collect himself. 

  " Sorry… It seems it’s too soon for physical contact," apologised Arbero, removing their limb quickly, their eyes expressing a blend of confusion and remorse. "I wanted to see how your body would respond if I offered my Essence. " Arbero got closer to Mortigus, slouching a little bit. Mortigus was stunned as his knee started recovering faster than before. 

   "Have you ever connected to the mycelium? To the network in the soil?"

   "I don’t really understand what you’re talking about. Like, touching the ground to raise mushrooms?" answered Mortigus, puzzled.

   "That’s not the full extent of our powers. The mycelium is, to put it simply, the network between the true bodies of the mushrooms, which are all underground and present in any forest. Usually Mycolians are taught this at a very young age, before their full metamorphosis occurs."

  "I think I understand... sort of," Mortigus replied, though his expression betrayed the confusion as he tried to piece together the stranger’s words.

  "Do not worry; you have time later to understand the theory. Now, just follow my lead." Mortigus nodded. Arbero proceeded to raise one of his legs before planting it into the ground firmly. Mortigus followed along with his hand. 

  "When you create mushrooms, you use your Essence to produce and empower spores to grow rapidly. Though I fear I didn’t ask if you knew what Essence was. You see, Essence is the kind of energy you feel flowing through you and igniting when you give life to mushrooms."

  Mortigus nodded his head from side to side, signalling a shaky understanding. After all, he practiced using his Essence ever since the bear attack, but now he had gained a name for it beyond simply "magic".

 "Good then, to continue, Essence is a form of energy that can be controlled and fine tuned; you can channel Essence into mushrooms to imbue them, to gorge them with energy. However, to connect with the mycelium network, you'll need a softer touch in how you push your Essence. Try imagining your Essence pulsating like little ripples in a pond. Perhaps think of your palm as the centre from which you push these waves into the ground." Mortigus tilted his head, but did as he was told. 

  "I am doing it, from what I can tell. It’s like pretending I’m a vegetable digging into the ground? I think I sense some other waves too, is that you?"

  "Correct! Mycolians can identify each other by these waves, since they’re like a signature. But the full story is beyond the surface. Aim for what feels like thin, tangled roots, beyond me and you." Arbero added leg gestures to explain the sensation of going dipper. 

 "Thin roots," echoed Moritgus. "I feel a faint signal. Quite different from the sensation of forcing mushrooms to grow fruit. It feels like trying to catch insects in the dark, or rather worms, I guess."
  "You’re getting close; you are progressing well. Try to make a connection. The mycelium will accept you with no pushback," assured Arbero.

   Mortigus continued staring at the ground as he pressed his palm into the soil. His fingers acted as pillars that, despite not growing a single inch, seemed to reach into the bellows of the earth. He finally grasped a thread with his Essence. Successive bursts of sensations fell like water droplets into Mortigus’ mind straight through his connected arm. The scrambled voice of the ground was trying to reach him, whispering in a raspy voice the signs of life around him. Suddenly a peculiar burst  hit him intensely in the chest.

  "I think I reached it, finally. My hand and mind seem strapped to the ground and everything in it. And I think I sensed something similar to your waves from earlier." Arberos' eyes lightened up before closing in an expression akin to a mouthless smile. 
  "Ah, indeed, you recognised my signal! You may not know it yet, but this is an amazing start. Environmental awareness is a Mycolian's strength in this world. This is part of my end of our agreement, but it is now also my wish: for you to grow accustomed to your new body and to what it holds within. This world is perilous for our kind; it’s vital for you to learn more about Essence and how to use it. You were rather lucky to run into me first of all things. "

   "You were pretty close to crushing me though," retorted Mortigus jokingly.

  "That is true," chuckled Arbero. "But forgetting about first impressions, I’d be more than happy to show you the roots…ropes. And for that, I ask you to remain here for a while."

   "I spent so much time away from home. Could I really afford to stay here for more than a day?" responded Mortigus, his words coming out slower as he tried to balance his options. 

  "I think it would be wiser for you to stay a little longer, so you can continue learning from me. If your life span is similar to a Mycolian's, you do have a lot of years ahead of you. And you are also at risk of humans reacting violently at you. I know that all too well." 

  Mortigus focused on Arbero's face, growing more and more capable of reading their mannerisms and expressions, despite their uncanny facial features. He could feel their genuine concern, and it urged him to respond with equal sincerity.  

  "I told you I didn’t choose this form. The Plague Doctors took me away from my family; I have to find them, see them. That's the whole reason why I finally pushed myself to leave the damn forest. I've wasted away not just my years; I've left them to mourn and question if I'm still alive for too long. A day or two may seem too little in comparison to several years, especially for you, but I cannot bear them now that I'm actively thinking about it." said Mortigus, barely keeping his tone consistent. "I need to think about it; at the very least I’ll stay here for the night."

  "It is your decision; I won't stop you. I can partially understand how you feel. My recommendations stand though; you need to be better prepared. In your current state, you could get—" but Arbero couldn’t finish their sentence; a knot manifested in their throat. A few seconds of silence fell between the two mycolians.

 "You mentioned human hunters before. You’ve remained in this forest for quite a while, judging by your home," affirmed Mortigus steadily. "The dangers you speak of, you’ve certainly experienced them firsthand. It would be the safer way to listen to you." Mortigus left a gap in his speech, his words stumbling in his brain, while Arbero was standing stiff, listening carefully to Mortigus’ reasoning, or perhaps they were  still fixated on the sentence they didn’t manage to finish.  

 "Maybe I’ll remain here for a week, to be more reasonable. Do you think you’d manage to teach me the bare minimum in that amount of time?"
"That’s a rather short period; you may be a fast learner, but I don’t know. I shouldn’t complain. It’s far better than if you were to leave tomorrow morning. I’ll have to be a hell of a teacher, though. After all this time—" Arbero responded, his voice quickly abandoning the forced jovial tone. 

 "We agree upon it then, right?" Mortigus raised his hand a bit, moving towards Arbero. 

 The tall mycolian looked at Mortigus slightly confused as they raised one of their legs in mimicry. Mortigus grabbed it and shook it firmly, performing a rather scuffed handshake. 

  "My parents taught me handshakes should be used for agreements or sometimes as salutes, though it was mostly adults who would use them," explained Mortigus.

 "I see," said Arbero, still perplexed. Upon making contact, a spark-like spine could be felt in each other’s limbs. Mortigus felt the static feeling crawling up to his head in a few milliseconds, almost overwhelming him in dizziness. Both stepped back a little, Mortigus staring at his hand, his fingers shaking slightly. Arbero stood stoic while remarking their own leg before revealing what happened:

   "I think you have accidentally attempted to communicate through your hand. You probably can’t control your Essence very discreetly and were still pushing out the signal from before. You see, mycolians can communicate through physical touch. What a weird feeling though."

  "Wait, communicate through touch? Like talking through my hand? It felt incredibly bizarre," blurted out Mortigus, his hand still feeling like static.
  "Indeed, it did feel that way for me too. Mycolians can connect through direct touch way more intensely than through the mycelium in the ground; a powerful sensation is to be expected, but it felt odd for me too. The lack of clarity, the noisy feedback—it may be a sign of—" hesitated Arbero for a second. "Unfortunately, you may be a <<balapa>> in this sense. Guess a body patched together by humans is prone to mistakes nonetheless."

  "You said I’m a <balapa>?" blurted Mortigus. 

  "Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean any offence. I shouldn’t have meant it as a mistake. Though I doubt it was on purpose."

  "I just really don’t know what you mean." 

  "Ah, yes, of course you don’t know what it means. Let me touch you again, gently now. It will help me explain," requested Arbero. Mortigus threw up his hand hesitantly as Arbero grabbed it, their second contact generating another spark, less powerful than the first. Arbero concentrated their stare at their handshake, while Mortigus started hearing thuds in his mind, as if incomprehensible sounds were climbing on the side of his face between the regions of his ears and eye. The longer he left his hand clung to Arbero’s, the more overbearing these sounds were, until he had to pull away from the discomfort.