Somewhat further up the hill that Shawn’s house rested on, their Grandma lived in an old English cottage with a thatched roof. The walls were made of white, chiseled stone which then smoothly transitioned into an orange chimney. The cottage had small squared windows and all along the exterior grew a plant with drooping purple flower spires. The garden was fenced with a lush and thick green bush. The only gap was a small dark wooden gate, which was partially open. It was a new day. Shawn and Will were on their way to visit Granny, as they approached, expecting to find her in the garden, a fluffy, well-fed orange cat walked pompously toward them. “Mr. Snickers,” Will called out with an excited voice. Mr. Snickers meowed in a displeased note, just as if trying to say, “It’s your majesty.” In response to hearing Will’s voice Grandma called out “Is that you Willie?” Her voice was somewhat raspy and feeble, one could hear she wasn’t in best health. A small, hunched figure appeared from behind the bushes as she hobbled her way to the gate. The cat, displeased as Will ceased his attentive petting, meowed, but this time in a lower —insulting— tone as if trying to say, peasant. “Cut the attitude, Snickers,” said Granny from behind the gate. Her white hair —or the remains of it— was propped up in a bun, thinned, so much so, it made Shawn uncomfortable to look at it. She had glasses hanging around her neck, which she then put on to see the boys better, “Now aren’t you two handsome young men,” she said with love in her voice. She wore a black shirt over which she had a green gardener’s apron. They both came in for a hug and received a kiss on the cheek. “Come in my boys, I’ll fetch you some cookies, but first, do you want to see what I’ve been fiddling with?” For this question had not required an answer, they followed her on a paved stone path. The garden wasn’t too big and opposite from the gate it was walled by the onset of a hill under which the cottage dwelled. However, what they saw in the back of this small garden stunned them. Various flowers with blossoms the size of their heads perched on stems that looked more like garden hoses. Under each plant grew a bunch of mushrooms, and with varying plant types, the mushrooms varied as well, although impressive and beautiful, that wasn’t what caught their attention. In the middle of it, all stood a statue of a man, however, it wasn’t just a mere man, for it had mushrooms —also wooden— growing all over its body. It was arranged as if it was supposed to be a shrine. Shawn looked at it and immediately saw the irrefutable resemblance with Pat’s pipe. Holy shit…, Shawn thought in disbelief. 

“What is… that?” Will asked pointing at the statue. 

“Fungal w—”

“warriors,” Shawn finished with Granny at the same time. 

“Well, look at ya, how did you know?”

“What are fungal warriors?” Will inquired impatiently.

“My mycology professor has the same motive carved onto his pipe,” he replied then asked, “But… why?”

“Come inside… love number one,” she tapped Will on the shoulder, “and love number two,” she tapped Shawn’s shoulder. 

“Why am I love two?” asked Shawn, clearly confused, for he was the older one.

“I knew you’d ask, and I will not tell you,” she stuck her tongue out and chuckled.

The inside of the cottage was not new to them, however, they still couldn’t help but stop in their tracks and lock their gaze when passing various statues, objects, paintings, plants, and, if anything, mushrooms. Like any other mushroom freak, she also had a collection of pictures of her holding either rare or gigantic fungal specimens. Will stood there looking at one of the shelves decorated with paintings and statues with psychedelic motives. Masks embellished with geometrical patterns, feathers, and eyes in a variety of colors and abstract paintings of pillars and spirals. In the middle was a picture of Granny with her friends, whose attire gave away the decade this must have been in. 

“I like this one,” Will said and grabbed a tiny wooden statue of a gilled mushroom, slender in the stem with a concave-shaped cap. 

“I bet you do,” Granny said as she put it back.

Clearly, my brother, Shawn thought.

“Hey, I wanted to —“

“Hush, hush, now,” she interrupted him and hurried him to sit on the sofa. Shawn sniggered.

After a moment Shawn called in the direction of the kitchen, “Do you need help?” where Granny brewed some herbal tea. 

“No you just stay wh—“, she coughed once, then a second time, followed by the sound of shattering porcelain.

“Gran!” they simultaneously yelled, when Shawn had a coughing fit as well. Will ran after her, and somewhat later Shawn caught up. They found her leaning against the sink covering her mouth. “Whew, got a bit dizzy there,” she faked a smile.

“Just shake it off, ah-ah,” Will sang and danced nonchalantly.

“Wrong timing Will,” Shawn corrected him.

“Don’t be like that…” she said, “once you can’t laugh, you’ve been beaten… so let’s keep dancing and laughing, shall we?” She looked at Will and smiled. 

“Could you help me pick up the pieces?” She asked. While they did, she washed off the blood from her hand. 

They brewed some new tea together and sat down in the living room. After she lit an inscent candle they bathed in woods and roses, at least according to their noses. The crackling fire lit the otherwise dim room and soothed them. 

“Can be quite cold in stone houses as such,” she said.

“How have you been feeling?” Shawn asked.

“There are so many nicer things to talk about, don’t you think?” she looked at him and Shawn needed to hear no more. Will sat next to Granny as he petted Mr. Snickers who purred and stretched out on her lap.

“I saw you paired certain plants with certain mushrooms… I suppose you figured out, which works best together?” Shawn changed topics, “Is that why the plants are so big?” 

“I did, a smart one aren’t you?” she replied.

At least when it comes to mushrooms, he thought.

“It takes long even for scientists to figure out compatibilities… too many variables.”

“Observation and patience,” she said then continued, “You can make some solid predictions if you learn to listen.”

“Listen?” Shawn asked.

They woke Will’s interest, for he now listened intently. 

“Listen to what the mushrooms are telling you,” she answered and coughed.

Not the hocus-pocus again, he internally sighed.

“I can’t learn from you if you keep using metaphors like that,” Shawn said.

“Not all language is spoken, nor can it be heard by ears alone,” she replied unfazed by Shawn’s academic demeanor, “I know you scientists like things rigid and predictable, feasible and conventional, but that “reason” of yours is nothing else than nearsightedness and prejudice.”

Right. That prejudice is the reason you have a fridge in the kitchen, Shawn thought.

“So, could you teach me how to…listen?” he asked, somewhat mockingly.

“If you spend more time around mushrooms, you’ll understand,” she replied. 

He was evidently annoyed by the answer, which was something along the lines of “You’ll understand when you’re older,” however there was something more important on his mind.

“Alright, alright,” he said, “but could you tell me about the mushroom warrior thing… please?” She looked at him, obviously sizing him up whether he was ready. After a moment she nodded to herself, but as if she forgot she looked at little Will next to her. After another moment of contemplation she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you.”