Hedges and Hegemony

​                Thick and fissured trunks formed a wooden crowd across uneven ground. High up in their canopies small round leaves conspired with one another to form an incomplete parasol for the ground below, casting patchy shadows that shifted throughout the day and forced any lesser plants to beg for a few minutes of sunlight. Arboreal hegemony had stood uncontested in the Pleo Forest for thousands of years; by definition its name declared that the trees were lords and masters of the territory, and all other flora would fade into anonymity.
                Every kingdom had an underground, however. Just beneath the surface, hiding among the roots and detritus were the fungi. They cared not for the occlusion of the canopy, nor the dominance of trunked overlords, for they thrived in the shadows and the darkness. Their mycelia stretched to each edge of the woods, providing enough room for all mush and enough stools for every toad who sought a place to rest. An ancient and established society, the fungi had woven themselves into every aspect of forest life; they fed on the fallen trunks, they bloomed among the barren patches, and they had even climbed high enough to feed directly on the ostensible monarchs of the forest. Huge brackets and shelves of fungal defiance, hanging openly from monolithic oaks and proud hornbeams, proved how powerless the mighty trees really were.
                Whatever victories the fungi won, however, were of no consequence to the shaded flora. Whether the trees, or the fungi, or even the fauna found themselves on top, the flora would always know themselves to be at the bottom.
                Not exactly oblivious but definitely apathetic to the power struggles of the forest, two pairs of boots marched along a narrow pathway in the thin grasses between stands of trees. One pair was smaller than the other, stepping deliberately to avoid the more exotic plant life that battled for survival along the edge of a passage trafficked by hooves and paws. The other pair of boots was consequently larger, but it stepped softly, impossibly so given the weight above it, and matched the strides and footprints of the first pair with an effortless precision.
                "Ooh, what's this?" Small-boots said, darting to a stringy green mass of stems and leaves that sat unimposingly at the roadside. Everything about the human above the small boots was skinny and slender, and she folded herself up in a crouch to take a closer look at the plant. Tubular parchment cases and sample bottles dangling from her belt clinked together as she bent and moved, fighting each other and the small tool pouches strapped to her slight frame for space. "Leaves alternating in clusters of four, three points to each one, many teeth per leaf. Stem soft and pliable. About... a dozen or so petals per flower arranged in a tight goblet shape, one per stem." Her tight, high ponytail swung freely a she tipped her head this way and that to better examine every aspect of the plant, holding it gently between two fingers like a damp cigarette.
                Large-boots did not rush over with the same urgency. He stood quietly and patiently, watching Professor Elizabeth Renwick, one of the King’s most learned advisors, squatting by the side of a road in the wilderness and pressing her head into a flower. One eye was on her always, just as ordered, and the other was on the surroundings. Where she was covered in pockets, tools and curios, he was rather plainer and simpler. Dark wraps covered his limbs, padded leather armour encased his chest, and he carried a backpack larger than the professor on his back. His hands still held the tools of his own trade however; a pair of elegant battle picks, blades curved like tiny scythes, hung gently down alongside his legs.
                "I'm thinking it's a member of the columnifera family."  Elizabeth concluded, mostly directing the statement towards herself. Her companion had not laboured for very long under the delusion that she was trying to engage him in discourse on the identification of rocks, trees or flowers, quickly learning that the conversation progressed more smoothly when he didn't try to make a contribution. Whenever it sounded like she was finished, however, he still felt that it was appropriate to acknowledge it.
                "Columnifera. Good." He assessed.
                "It is good. Columnifera grows in the same kind of soil as resolutis, so we're on the right track."
Large-boots nodded and Elizabeth turned back to her plant, slipping a small pair of clippers from a leather pouch and taking a sample.
                "Bag please, Henry." She asked, but Henry had already turned his back to her, presenting the various pockets and securing points on his pack towards her. He'd learned the drill on this one well, it seemed.
                "Thank you." Professor Renwick said happily, slipping out a thick tome, bound with string and leather, from a pocket on the side of the bag. It didn't decrease the weight noticeably; the backpack was almost exclusively for investigative tools and equipment that Professor Renwick needed for her mission, but were too heavy for her to carry herself. He listened for the familiar sounds of pages turning, leaves brushing against paper, and finally a book slamming shut again. Right on cue there was another jiggling of the backpack, and Elizabeth was finished.
                "Onwards then!" She declared, striding onwards under Henry’s gaze. He always had one eye on the professor as they marched. She flitted like a bee in a zig zag across whichever path they took, apparently finding something fascinating or valuable where he only saw grassy earth and examining it with studious patience. Henry obediently paced behind her and was pleasantly surprised when she took a whole four paces before getting distracted by something else at the roadside.
                Henry took his usual patient stance with picks in hand and eyes in head. This time she was looking at a something broader and flatter than the supposed columnifera, a plant that looked as if someone had taken a dandelion and ironed it flat against the ground. Watching Elizabeth work was a quiet pleasure for Henry. During his lifetime he'd been treated as a weapon; trained and honed by masters of combat, stealth, survivalism and more besides, such that he could act as an honour guard for royalty or members of their court. Even in a front-line battlefield he would keep them safe from enemies and themselves. Ambush was the assumption from every shadow. Strangers were assessed as assailants. More than one book had received a precautionary strike when it seemed to snap too readily at Elizabeth’s hands. But since those early days as a coiled spring Henry had adjusted to the lack of immediate threats, and learned to enjoy the tranquillity. He’d traded daily bloodshed and covering tracks for watching a young academic categorise flowers. Although he was still more in favour of marching non-stop for a full day to reach the next safe haven, restless feet were better than headless carcasses. Most of the time.
 
                Mistletoe looked down upon Henry and Elizabeth from its vantage among the high branches. It had never been a strong enough contender in the hierarchy of the forest to truly gain any appreciable power. Even if it had by some stroke of luck or subterfuge gained a foothold, there wouldn't have been a way to make it work. It thrived on the powerful, nestling among their boughs and feeding from them. Sometimes the powerful became weak and could no longer sustain the mistletoe, falling to the floor and succumbing to the fungi, and sometimes the mistletoe was carried on the shoulders of giants for years. But despite its weakness and dependence it was always around, a network of parasitic eyes watching and listening from the treetops, surveying from the canopy and hearing whispers from all around.
                It saw the two intruders stopping on the path, one of them scrabbling in the dust and the other watching in apparent fascination, and it kept watch over them because what else was there for mistletoe to do?
 
                Sunset crept up behind mistletoe, academic and bodyguard alike while Elizabeth was busy studying a local bee. Steadfastly refusing to catch or disrupt it, she had committed herself to scurrying along behind its erratic flight path and pausing for arbitrary lengths of time at seemingly random flowers for the sake of the study. Henry contented himself with standing still and watching her dart around in his field of view for the most part, arms hanging loose by his sides but still clutching his picks. Occasionally he had to take a few paces in one direction or another, or follow her into a dense patch of trees to keep sight, but predominantly he could pivot in place as Professor Renwick, educated by the same masters and tutors as the royal children, chased an insect around the woods.
                Education was an unknown concept to the mistletoe. It couldn’t have said what good it would do, even if it’d had education explained to it, because being stuck parasitically to the top of a tree drastically reduced the opportunities afforded by a knowledge of trigonometry. All it knew was that one of the strangers had to move their feet very often and very quickly, whereas the other was only able to take a few steps before remaining static again. It observed and it pondered.
                “Well Henry, I’m pretty certain that it was a white-flanked bee. The only other thing it could be is a snow-sided bee, but they’re normally a bit larger. It’s hard to say one way or the other when you only have one of them in front of you. It visited a lot of the flowers that white-flanked bees like.” Elizabeth explained as she returned to her guard, small notebook in hand.
                “Sounds like it could be a white-flanked bee then.” He replied.
                “But snow-sided bees like the same kinds of flowers as the white-flanked, to be fair.”
                “Right.”
                “I’m going to call it white-flanked.” She decided, writing it conclusively into her notes. “It’ll be dark soon so we should start thinking about making a camp. Have you seen anywhere that you’re happy with?”
                Henry smirked at the subtle mockery in her tone. In selecting a camp site, as in all things, Professor Renwick was concerned only with how well it suited her academic aims. Henry’s concerns fell more on the side of concealed and defensible positions, and he’d been forced to veto several locations on that account. The king had been very clear that he was to do whatever Professor Renwick asked, but even clearer that she was to come home safely. Contradictions came hard and often when instructions from the king was involved.
                “I’m fairly sure we’d be able to see last night’s camp if these trees weren’t in the way. We could just walk back there and it’d be fine.” Henry suggested with a pointed look.
                “This isn’t about progressing along a road as quickly as possible. It’s about finding where the resolutis grows and ensuring that it is preserved for the King.” Professor Renwick reminded. “We are surging forwards on our mission even if we haven’t gone hugely far in terms of distance.”
                “His majesty will be especially pleased that you tracked that bee so thoroughly.” Henry said, but Elizabeth was already ignoring him again and making notes on her insect chase. Shrugging he waited patiently for her to finish, hearing a gentle breeze rustle the detritus of the woodland floor. It sought to blow the loose fragments of twig and leaf along the lines of the ever-growing dusky shadows for reasons best known to itself.
                “Where to then, innkeeper?” Elizabeth asked, slipping the notebook into Henry’s pack.
                “We should get to the top of this rise and then look for something dense enough to serve as a wall. Usual drill.” He replied, half-listening to the leaves.
                “Wondrous. There are a few other species of columnifera that prefer summits so that’ll be a perfect spot to search.” She accepted happily, setting off along the path once again.
                “And it takes away the risk of someone rolling a rock into our camp while we sleep.” Henry explained. Some of the leaf litter was making an awful racket.
                “Yes, yes. We’ve been through that enough times.”
                “Not to mention that if it rains during the night we’ll have the water running away from us, rather than into us.” He continued. It seemed that the wind was strong enough to break small twigs in localised, almost foot-step like patches.
                “You do remember that this is something we have done every day for weeks, don’t you Henry? I’m not a novice on my first trip into the wilds.”
                “I do remember. Just keep talking and keep walking for a moment, Professor.” A spray of litter tinkled against the dry earth and stones on the path.
                “I wasn’t very well going to stop here for no reason. But if we’re to talk then why not focus on the fascinating behaviour of the white-flanked bee instead of banal camp considerations. I’ve recorded them visiting as many as fifty flowers before returning to the hive.”
                “You personally followed that journey. I saw it.” Henry mumbled. Soft crunching sounds had replaced the leave rustling completely. The wind was strangely localised indeed.
                “This mission is critical to the King; anything I can do to complete the picture is beneficial.”
                “Just a little longer, then.”
                “What? We’ve not even had our first confirmed resolutis yet and we’ll need to map the growth domains fully from that point before turning home. It’s not like you to be this impatient or talkative Henry. What’s wrong?”
                Henry span on his heels next to Elizabeth, planting both legs into a hard, braced position. The brigand behind them had a chance to look mildly surprised that his assuredly silent approach had been noticed, while Henry confirmed that there was a blade in the man’s hand. A few seconds of wet thumping sounds later, there was a crumpled pile of former brigand with several new perforations.
                “Argh!” Professor Renwick yelped as she turned to see what was happening. What she had thought to be a pleasant enough post-bee-chase walk and chat with her travelling companion was, apparently, something rather more violent.
                “Wh-… where did…”
                “Woods. Probably been watching us for a while, and then thought this was a good moment to take us.” Henry said calmly.
                “How did you know he was there?”
                “Heard him. I wanted you to keep talking so that he’d think he’d got the drop on us. Having to chase him down would have been a waste of my time.” Henry explained, wiping the blood from his picks on the man’s clothing. Finding clean patches of cloth was a challenging task with the quantity of blood spilling out of the body, but Henry knew what he was doing. “It was lucky he didn’t have a bow, really. Otherwise we’d probably both be dead.”
                Professor Renwick didn’t appear to be wholly comforted by that observation. She was still staring in horror at the corpse-turned-blade-cloth lying on the path, but also now wondered in the back of her mind whether Henry cared about her conversation as anything but a distraction for potential combatants. Charismatic she might not have been, but that didn’t mean talking to her had to be weaponised.
                “Anyway, we can get going properly now.” Henry said matter-of-factly, facing Elizabeth and waiting for her to start moving.
                “That’s it, is it? We’re not going to… you know… bury him or search his body for instructions to execute us or something?” She asked uncertainly, still transfixed by the small spouts of blood around the brigand’s torso.
                “If he’s stalking around here trying to get the drop on travellers then he’s got nothing we want. And if someone paid for an assassin and this is all they could afford then we don’t need to worry about who they are.” He assessed disinterestedly.
                “But burying though; we can’t just leave him here, can we?”
                “You’re in charge of ‘we’, but I can leave him anywhere. Let the wolves have him. It’ll keep them away from us for a night.”
                Now missing some of the spring that chasing a bee had given her step, Elizabeth turned away from the body and started walking quietly up the hill again. Her eyes were still flitting from side to side as she went, but instead of trying to spot interesting plants or signs of wildlife, she was scanning every deepening shadow in the woods for signs of a hidden assailant or a trap. It all just made her miss the bee even more.
 
                Taking on an assignment for the King was always going to be a risky business. He rarely dealt in anything that wasn’t dangerous, and in her capacity as an advisor she often counselled him not to do whatever inane thing he was planning on carrying out. But when she was summoned to see him, with instructions to pack all of her necessary equipment into a travelling bag, it didn’t seem like a risk from which she would be able to excuse herself or talk him round.
Musty old men and women, his other advisors whom she knew well, had been standing in a around the king, staring at her like meat, as she walked into his audience chamber. The Lord Chamberlain, the Commander of His Majesty’s Army, the Lady Spymaster and even the Venerable Chief Boot Polisher were in attendance, positioned in a horseshoe around the throne and whispering to one another without taking their eyes away as she approached. None of them greeted her like a friend or colleague; they just stood smirking as the King said his piece about needing Elizabeth to ply her skills in the real world. In itself that hadn’t been a terrible request. After all, Professor Renwick prided herself on going out and studying what grew from the earth herself, and the majority of her time away from court was spent finding and categorising the wildlife around the King’s capitol city of Trevillo, earning her a reputation as the only advisor to be found with her head inside a tree more often than not. Problems arose, however, when the King had told her where she was to go.
“The Pleo Forest?!” she’d repeated. Smirks from the advisors grew wider. “That’s far from the patrols and jurisdictions of your border guards, your highness. I’ll practically be in a no-man’s land that we know the nomads scour.”
“I’m aware of local geography, Professor Renwick. You know as well as I that our royal reserves of resolutis have been low for many years, and greater supplies will be required in future. It is the greatest service you can do for this kingdom to ensure that we have greener pastures from which to draw.” The King had replied, unmoved by her plight.
“Stocks are never high when it comes to poisons, my liege, and it is just as well. You can notice if something has been stolen, that way. And the poisons degrade over time until they’re benign, bitter leaves.” She’d argued.
“Do you distrust someone in the court?” Asked the Lady Spymaster, peeking out at Elizabeth from behind her many veils. “Few have access to the poisons.”
“Of course I distrust people here! The Venerable Chief Boot Polisher pickpockets the rest of you daily, and you yourself have been caught numerous times falsifying title deeds to expand your own lands.”
“I do help myself to your purses.” The Boot Polisher agreed with a smile.
The Lady Spymaster just shrugged.
“I gladly admit to my documentation falsehoods. Everyone on the council agrees that they’re a fun distraction.” She admitted defiantly. Even the King murmured in agreement. “But I am no regicidal poisoner. That’s over the line. It’s just not on.”
This seemed to be enough for everyone else. They had no further concerns.
“Why do you need so much anyway?” Elizabeth asked, changing tactic slightly.
“There are always frictions with the other kingdoms, Professor Renwick, you know that. We must take bolder action if we are to quell their false reigns and bring them into our own.” The King told her solemnly. “Resolutis is the most ingenious way.”
“You want a stockpile of monarch poison? That will destabilise everything!”
“Not if the dissenters meet with the same fate as their ruler. There will still be trade, even with kingdoms for whom power is unsure, because anyone who tries to break economic accords or fails to patrol their borders shall be met with resolutis.”
“Really not sure you’ve thought that one through.” Professor Renwick said bluntly.
“I’m not sure you’re in a place to lecture me on matters of diplomacy and state, natural philosopher.” The King replied stonily.
“Apparently not.”
“Besides, there are other problems that resolutis may solve. The mines are running dry, but we’ll see how dry they are when poison’s on the cards. The seas are choppy? Not after resolutis. Bad harvest? The farmers shall find something green on their plates. My kingdom shall thrive!” The King continued, standing up from his throne with a single fist balled and held to the sky.
“You can’t poison away all your problems!”
“Only if I don’t try!”
The other advisors burst into rapturous applause. Elizabeth knew when she was fighting a losing battle, and it was starting to sound like even if she won she’d probably end up poisoned.
“Fine. But I will surely be killed by nomads or bandits if I travel to the Pleo Forest, sire. You’ll not get your poison that way.”
“You shall have protection, professor. You are valuable to me and to this kingdom.” He said, appearing genuinely saddened that she thought he might send her out unguarded. “Henry here will keep you safe come what may.”
Elizabeth remembered exactly how startled she’d been when she saw the dark-clad figure standing quietly next to the Lord Chamberlain. He must have been standing there in the King’s audience chamber all along, hearing details and secrets of the court with his picks holstered at his waist, as if it were just another day. She scanned him up and down, concluding that he looked like he had about as much personality as the brickwork.
“One man?”
“He’s all you need.” The King said knowingly.
“Two can travel more quickly and more stealthily than a thousand.” Pointed out the Venerable Chief Boot Polisher, just trying to help.
“There are numbers between two and one thousand though, aren’t there.” Elizabeth fired back, realising what she’d just said only a moment too late.
“There are?” The Boot Polisher asked, his brow furrowed for a moment. He allowed it to become a frown as he turned to the other advisors, and then his eyes widened. “By the gods she’s right…” There were no other surprised faces, and the Boot Polisher recognised it straight away. “Wait… did all of you know? For all these years?!” There was a series of small, guilty nods. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?!” He raged.
A row of glares, varied in their subtlety had fallen upon Elizabeth. She didn’t blame them; that deception was an institution and she felt genuinely guilty for spoiling it.
“Oh, very well done, Professor. Now the Boot Polisher knows about the numbers three to nine hundred and ninety nine! Is this what you wanted?” The King snapped. All the other advisors started making hushed attempts at calming the Venerable Chief Boot Polisher, who really seemed displeased at the long-term ruse.
“No, of course not!” She’d pled honestly. “What I wanted was to understand that I’ll be safe. To be honest I didn’t realise that the Boot Polisher didn’t even know about three.”
“I dare not think what else you’ve hidden from me! Are there even more of them between one and two? Hm?” The Venerable Chief Boot Polisher demanded angrily.
“Henry will be as good of a protector as you could hope to have.” The King told Elizabeth with obvious frustration, trying his best to ignore the argument beside him. “You needn’t concern yourself. Now I command that you leave before you cause any more trouble, here.”
Henry had moved to Elizabeth’s side before she’d had a chance to comprehend what the King had said, as if the solider had been an extension of the monarch’s own body and acted on his intentions alone. Unwilling to disobey a direct and angry instruction from the King, especially with what must have been a warrior loyal to the crown standing next to her, Professor Renwick turned and walked hurriedly away from the escalating argument. The last thing she’d heard was the sound of a chamberlain being struck with a hitherto concealed polishing brush before Henry pulled the door discretely closed behind them both.
 
                Professor Renwick awoke to the sound of water dripping onto canvas. Nestled into the dense lower boughs of a pine tree that grew audaciously among deciduous peers, her tent had been largely spared the rain of the night. Droplets that ran along coniferous fronds made their way onto one end and ran down the sides, forming small puddles on the earth either side of the tent’s entrance. It was a relief to find that she hadn’t been taken by wolves in the night, as was the revelation that neither bears nor bandits had been able to harm her while she slept. Whether it was by Henry’s hand or simple luck that these things were true didn’t matter as long as the King’s promise of her safety was kept.
                In the early light of the day Henry sat on a conveniently fallen log and peered quietly at a small bracket of fungus growing from the base of a coarse-barked tree. Professor Renwick would probably have been able to tell him exactly what both the fungus and the tree were, he thought to himself, after quoting a raft of details that he wouldn’t even think to classify. She talked about where the leaves of things were in relation to each other, and actually took the time to count petals; it was bewildering to him. If you spent that much time looking at the ground then an assassin wouldn’t need to stalk you for days; they could just turn up whenever they felt like it, and chances were you’d be so distracted by some turf that they could slip a knife in without breaking pace.
                Regardless of how doomed it would make her without his guardianship, it was interesting to hear Elizabeth break everything down into lists of incredibly specific details. The fungus sat there in his vision and no assortment of characteristics jumped out at him, but he tried his best. It was coming out like a bracket, which was a good start, and it grew on a tree, which was a good way to continue. Dark brown on top and dusky orange underneath. Lots of wobbly bits. No antlers. That felt like a pretty good overall assessment of the fungus, in as much as Henry couldn't think of any more words to say about it. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Elizabeth would have been able to go on for twice as long about it, talking about features that he would never notice, but as an amateur's attempt he felt satisfied.
                Next was the tree. He tipped his head to one side, hoping that the angle of his view would elucidate him about the correct terminology for tree categorisation. It had bark. Quite a lot of it, in fact; it ran all the way from the ground to the top of the trunk and wrapped right around so that there were no gaps at all. Gapless bark then. Branches came out of the trunk and generally pointed outwards rather than inwards, getting thinner the farther they were from the tree and sometimes having leaves on them. Leaning back on his log he lifted his head up to the canopy, and determined that it was far less than a day's march away for him, but probably a couple of days at Professor Renwick's rate of progress. There were thousands of leaves, and it was hard to tell what they looked like from their shaded undersides.
                Henry took mental stock of the tree to summarise his observations. It was a gapless barked tree with outward pointing branches, two Elizabeth-days tall and had thousands of leaves. That felt like a thorough enough assessment for anyone.
He sat for a while longer, listening to the sounds of the forest and verifying his conclusions regarding the fungus and the tree. Eventually he heard Professor Renwick stirring.
"Good morning Henry." She said, after a pitched battle with the laces on the tent's entrance.
                "Morning Professor."
Elizabeth stepped out and stretched in the morning light. Henry supposed that all of the weed-side squatting must have make her thighs tired and stiff.
"I didn’t hear any wolves attacking in the night." She observed, scanning around for signs of a nocturnal scuffle.
"Me either. I think they probably had their fill with that bandit and didn't need to come after us."
Professor Renwick experienced the memory of the perforated bandit again for a moment and then pushed it aside. That was nightmare fuel for a different time.
"What do you think of this fungus?" Henry asked.
“Are you asking because you want my opinion, or because you need an approaching vagabond to think I’m a vulnerable target?” Professor Renwick countered.
“I want your opinion.” Henry replied calmly. “And if there are any vagabonds lurking in the woods then drawing them out is just a nice surprise.”
                Elizabeth stared at Henry with narrowed eyes for a moment, but his open and straightforward features seemed to hide nothing. Nor did they give anything away though, so it was fairly moot.
"Let me see." She conceded, willing to accept his explanation of genuine curiosity for the time being. With the awkward first steps of the day she staggered through the leaf litter and squatted down by the bracket for a few pensive moments.
"Washerwoman's brain. Likes temperate woodland." She started. That was the approximate point at which Henry ceased to be familiar with the terms Elizabeth used, but the cascade of botanical description was just getting started. The bodyguard picked out some mention of it being unusually large, and proudly smiled at her description of the sunset orange colour, but could find little else to compare to his own attempt.
“It’s not an uncommon fungus really. It tends to enjoy growing on chestnut trees like this one.” She said with polite smile.
Henry looked from Professor Renwick to the tree and back again.
“How did you work out that it was a chestnut tree so quickly?”
“I’m just that good at my job, Henry. Anyway, we should get the camp packed up and get back down to where I saw that bee; I was thinking about it during the night and there might be some other indictors of potential resolutis growth to find in that area.” She ordered. With a silent nod Henry did as commanded; following orders was a reflex for him and Elizabeth had taken well to that, watching with a smirk as he stepped on several fallen chestnuts to get back to the tent.
 
Morning dew and overnight rain had soaked the previously dusty path, slickening the slope and making the walk back down the hill more treacherous than either Henry or Elizabeth would have liked. Thin trickles of run-off followed gullies in the path, exposing pebbly stones and washing silt downhill. From either side of the path they were assailed by the scent of dampened moss.
“Please be especially careful not to step on any of the wildflowers today, Henry. This silty soil is so soft that it would rip their roots right out if you slid across one.” Professor Renwick requested, holding her arms out wide to her sides for balance.
“No problem.” Henry agreed, showing no outward signs of having to work any harder to keep his footing. The internal struggle against slipping was far more fraught, but he had appearances to keep.
“I can’t believe that we need to go much farther. We didn’t leave the bee’s trail long before sunset.”
“You’ll recognise the spot when we get there.” Henry said matter-of-factly. Elizabeth felt a small glow of pride that he was crediting her with such confidence in her memory. “There’s that bandit’s body as a marker after all.” He added. The glow of pride flickered into another pang of awful memory.
“Yes. Of course.” She replied flatly.
“At least… there should be.” Henry said, slowing his pace and peering along the pathway. “It’s gone. We would have been able to see it by now if it was still there.”
Professor Renwick stopped walking. A few seconds later came to a halt, once her boots stopped skidding.
“Do… you think wolves dragged it away?”
“Maybe. In my experience they eat it where it falls though. Keep your eyes about you for any sign of where it used to be and we’ll know we’re in the right place.” Henry advised.
“Are you sure it’s safe? If something out here dragged the body off then it might come back looking for another meal.”
“That bandit didn’t get himself killed until he found us. Judging by his limited talents, if he was able to survive out here then I’d say the other dangers of this forest are something I can handle.”
Elizabeth thought about that for a moment and tried to disentangle the bravado from the logic. When that failed, she reminded herself that any dangers here would probably be present elsewhere in the forest too, so they may as well settle for the danger that didn’t require a long walk.
“Fine.” She accepted reluctantly, setting off again at an even more measured pace.
It was only a few minutes until Henry spotted a red tint to the path. Although most of the blood had been washed away by the rainfall, there was an unmistakable staining of the soil and a pooling of red liquid in some of the deeper puddles on the roadway.
“This is our spot.” He announced emotionlessly.
“Oh. Oh yes. Right.”
“You’re safe, Professor. Carry on your work.”
“I’d feel better if we had an idea of where they body went before I start examining the wildlife.” She said, carefully stepping to the edge of the red stains and peering unhappily into the puddles. Scanning her eyes over the scene Elizabeth saw a colour spectrum of blood that had been diluted to various degrees, but there was no sign of claw marks in the soft earth or of flesh having been torn apart here. Any subtle signs would have been destroyed by the water, she suspected. Lifting her head a little way from the stains, however, she saw the depression and streaks of something heavy having been dragged up the bank and through the moss.
“It seems it was dragged this way, deeper into the woods.” Elizabeth relayed.
“Then you wish to search in the other direction?” Henry inferred.
“I’d love to say yes, but no. Resolutis favours the southern faces of hillsides, and that’s where this track goes.” She sighed, cursing that bee for being so damnably interesting and eye-catching yesterday. It couldn’t have just allowed her to walk by and find some other indicator of habitat suitability away from the beasts of the forest, could it. “Do you think you could fend off wolves? Or a bear? Or… a peculiarly carnivorous stag maybe?”
Henry tilted his head sideways and raised an eyebrow.
“Silly question I suppose. That’s what you were assigned to me for. Alright, I’ll stop worrying and get on with my job.” Professor Renwick argued with herself, saving Henry the effort of having to think or speak. He was largely unconcerned.
Elizabeth busied herself with studying the flora in the area and scanning the ground for any evidence of favourable growth conditions, getting her hands immediately dirty and using mud to cover up the unpleasant thoughts. Within a few minutes she had started to mutter to herself again. Running through a series of mental checklists to identify whatever she found, the sound of her own voice provided a comforting distraction. Every now and again, however, she would turn a leaf and find it smeared with blood, which really wasn’t the kind of undisturbed nature that allowed her to do her best work. The occasional scraps of leather and torn fibres snagged on broken twigs also obfuscated matters.
Tuning out Professor Renwick’s running commentary of stem diameters and leaf cluster sizes, Henry kept his ears trained for anything that might sound like one or many more brigands intent on mugging Elizabeth. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about that situation, but as they gradually travelled into the woods and away from the road the visibility became commensurately poorer and sounds tended to bounce in odd ways from the array of trunks. All of their walking along roads and picking flowers by the verge had got him accustomed to an easier standard of listening out for danger, and this was presenting something more of his usual challenge.
“There’s no mistaking this. It’s perfect conditions for resolutis.” Elizabeth said. Her tone was trying to simultaneously convey excitement at having a convincing lead on their objective and dread at having to follow the trail of whatever had taken the body away. It came out sounding tired. “His majesty has really given me a wonderful task here.” She reflected.
“Everything’s fine, Professor. You’re safe with me.” Henry reassured softly. He didn’t want his own voice to drown out the sound of anything suspicious from the woods.
“I’d best lead the way then.” She said, drawing herself up straight again and giving the best stiff upper-lip she could manage. “And if we do happen to walk into anything untoward I shall try my best to duck as you swing for it.”
“That’s the spirit. Just make sure you keep up your running commentary in case we need to draw the threat out.” He reminded. Elizabeth didn’t reply.
Henry had never seen Professor Renwick walk continuously for as long as he did when they started moving south again. Her path was as erratic as ever, but rather than darting from plant-to-plant or harassing a flying insect she was just walking around trees or avoiding patches of dense undergrowth. Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before she stopped to look at anything, and even then it was just a quick scan through a magnifying lens. Such a lack of curiosity wasn’t to say that she didn’t keep looking round, however. It was just that the majority of such glances were to check that Henry was still close behind her; his unnerving talents for walking silently hadn’t been impacted by loose leaves and small twigs underfoot.
Mistletoe and fungus both witnessed the intruders marching through their forest with curious interest. They’d diverted immediately away from the trail left by the body that had been dragged through earlier, walking up the hill perpendicularly to its path for a minute before turning back onto their desired trajectory. That meant there were now two paths of disruption by unnatural boots. Mistletoe could see that the paths ran parallel and kept a curious watch to see how things transpired. Fungus rejoiced in the freshly turned and deliciously damp detritus their boots kicked up. Neither of them mentioned anything to the monarchs of the wood, whose eyes were far higher and focused only on one another.
 
Sunlight had been patient with the cloud cover since dawn. It had given the cumulus its time at the fore, shielding the ground from harsh lights and generally increasing humidity, but cumulus had been showing no signs of relinquishing the prime sky position at its allotted time. Billowing white and grey crowded out the blue above and jealously guarded its grip over the surface, denying the forest monarchs their day’s nourishment and basking in the windy currents of the jet stream. There was a time and a place for everything however. Sunlight knew that well, having the benefit of countless eons in which that lesson had been learned. It wouldn’t be denied its right by an upstart of water droplets.
Professor Renwick caught sight of a bright bead of red ahead of her, almost glowing in the beam of sunlight that suddenly pierced through the cloud and the canopy. Hearing her gasp audibly, Henry tensed his arms to strike.
“Is that blood?” she asked in a husky whisper as fear tried to compress her chest.
Silently Henry crept forwards past the Elizabeth and approached the offending colour, keeping himself low and his weapons primed to strike. Elizabeth’s heart thumped around in her chest, jostling her lungs and diaphragm as if to spur them into frenzied action. As she quivered the collection of pouches and tools at her waist clattered quietly against one another. Henry stopped.
“No. It looks like a berry of some kind.” He said flatly, feeling every ounce of the anti-climax dragging at him.
“Oh. Good.” Elizabeth mumbled. She stared down at her feet and muttered names to herself that she’d never tolerate being called by anyone else. An internal lecture started about how educated she was, and how she should have known better than to freeze up and panic about nothing. Allowing it to play out silently in her head, Elizabeth nodded to Henry and started walking again.
Clinging to a pair of branches among the leaves of the monarchs, a cluster of mistletoe soaked up what little light had started to penetrate the dense canopy and peered down at Elizabeth and Henry with curiosity. Furry, feathered and scaled denizens of the forest had such freedom to roam. They could weave among the trunks as they pleased, or taste direct summer sunlight even when the leaves were in full bloom, but for some reason they all followed the same paths as one another. In its established position as a tree-dweller it had no idea what made one path suitable and another undesirable, but watched patiently as these two wanderers moved. They travelled with a unique purpose that none of the forest animals or other intruders had travelled with before but, despite that, their path was still about to converge with the other, more heavily trafficked trail. Curious. Still, it pondered to itself, to those wanderers it would probably seem strange to drink nutrients from the arms of another being hundreds of times their own size. Each to their own.
“I think we’re getting close to the south face now, from the position of the sun.” Elizabeth announced cautiously after navigating a dense patch of brambles. “It’s hard to be sure in here, but we’re definitely not far off.”
“Agreed.”
“Which means that we might be able to start seeing signs of resolutis sprouts. Possibly a few early bloomers if we’re really lucky.”
“Fingers crossed.” Henry said. He’d never thought of finding poison as lucky before.
Crouching down into her traditional stance Professor Renwick started brushing at the ground with her palms and searched for any anaemic shoots among the litter of the forest floor.
Fungal spores drifted around Elizabeth's hands as she worked. They rode the subtle air disturbances between her fingers to see how and why the digits moved. Some of them settled ephemerally on her skin to test how vulnerable or defensible it was before drifting gracefully away again. In swirling vortices they got the measure of just what kind of forager she was, and on the delicate current of her breath they floated back to the ground and reported what they'd learned to the great mycelium beneath the surface. Information pulsed up and down its tendrils in an instant, reporting back to the whole fungi underworld of the Pleo Forest. It wasn't the mistletoe's privilege alone to know that there were two convergent paths here, but it was the fungi's prerogative to make use of that information.
Minutes passed and Henry settled into his normal vigil over Professor Renwick. She had managed to cover a whole couple of square feet in her meticulous searching thus far, and had the rest of a hillside to go if he'd understood correctly. If anything they did together would be a true test of his skills, maintaining the patience to stand by while this search happened was probably going to be it. What little excitement he’d had at listening out for threats was starting to subside as the progress halted, and he found himself settling into a meditative state of combined situational awareness and daydreaming. Images flickered through his mind of how exactly he’d disarm an opponent falling from a tree, how he’d defend Elizabeth from an attacker emerging from the forest floor’s detritus, and what method he’d use to apprehend a cassowary who’d been paid off by an assassin to deliver a poisoned peck. It all kept his mind honed and sharp, but he was glad that the professor couldn’t hear his thoughts directly. That’d ruin his mystique.
“That’s strange…” Elizabeth said, slightly louder than her general self-discussion but not quite loud enough to imply she wanted a conversation. Keeping one ear on that situation, Henry pictured ways in which the cassowary might try to convince them it was a friend, and how he himself might logically rebuke the arguments.
Creeping forwards along the ground in a crouch Professor Renwick approached a mushroom cap that had unfurled in front of her. She could have sworn it wasn’t there a few minutes earlier, but fungi always did have a habit of cropping up out of nowhere.
“Concave cap, pale stem, no evidence of a cluster but…” she looked up and saw that there was another identical mushroom a few feet away, and then another one beyond that in a straight line. “Linear growth pattern?”
Henry raised an eyebrow as Elizabeth’s methodical area search ceased, giving way to a comparatively purposeful crouch-walk in a straight line. A tether of responsibility started to pull at Henry’s waist as she got further away, tugging him along behind her to stay within range in case anything happened.
High above them the mistletoe watched the fungi’s manipulation with interest. Both intruders were following its breadcrumb trail without question and shuffling along obediently. It was hard to say what the monarchs would think about this because it would require convincing them to pay attention to two short-lived visitors to the woodland, but they’d probably settle on indifference. If it didn’t affect sunlight shares then they tended not to care.
“Are we following these mushrooms back to their nest like you did with the bee?” Henry asked, edging his tone with as much sarcasm as he dared.
“It’s really weird that they’re growing in a line. I need to find out why.”
“Will it lead us to resolutis?”
“It might.” Elizabeth pouted defiantly, never looking up from her mushroom trail.
“Right.” Henry accepted. Either side of them the forest floor sloped upwards, but they themselves were continuing on a flat, leading them into a small recess almost like a cave entrance set into the earth. As the slopes on either side grew to twice head-height the walls of the depression morphed from fertile soil to grey rock, covered in mosses and lichens but distinctly not a soft loam. Henry kept his eyes about him, not that they ever left his head, anticipating ambush from above at any moment. Ahead of them the recess seemed to end in a rocky wall, overhung with tendrils of moss and exploring roots that formed a dense curtain.
Elizabeth stifled a gasp and pointed down at the ground. Henry snapped to attention. A leather boot lay quietly alone, not moving at the moment but clearly a recent arrival. Leading away from it, towards the rear of the gulley, was a clear drag line.
With a finger to his lips for as long as it took for Elizabeth to take the hint, Henry stepped past her. Readying both weapons he crept forwards with his impossibly silent gait and cleared his mind for whatever stimulus came to meet it first. It was the kind of moment where, in a bard’s song, a bird could be expected to fly out suddenly and break the tension, but since Henry would put an end to a sudden bird just as well as a sudden attacker and animal deaths were never a popular development, no such bird emerged.
His foot crunched onto something more solid than the typical forest floor. A hastily covered camp fire, ringed with small stones. Something metallic too; it felt like a short blade based on how it rocked beneath his boot. Unless they were dealing with wolf in bandit’s clothing, the disappearance of their attacker’s body wasn’t an act of nature.
There was a rustle of the moss. Henry took another step closer and it whimpered. Neither moss, nor wolves, nor even bandits tended to whimper. He could hear Elizabeth behind him, trying her best to approach silently but not managing it very well. There was no way the whimper could have come from her, not least of all because she just wasn’t the whimpering sort. The moss trembled.
Henry slashed hard and suddenly at the moss curtain, just above head height, ripping it away with the head of one pick and pointing the other directly at what stood behind it.
“I don’t know what happened to your friend’s body, I’m sorry!” wailed a scrawny man. Between the fear in his eyes and the tightly cowering posture he seemed to possess a desperation that lent itself to sincerity. He was, however, wearing the same leather jacket that the bandit had died in, complete with pick holes, so that naturally cast some doubt over his testimony.
“Drop any weapons you have immediately or no-one will know what happened to your body either.” Henry barked. Elizabeth would normally have tutted disapprovingly at that kind of tone, but this wasn’t a social situation in which she definitely knew the rules, so she deferred to Henry’s experience for the time being.
“Not carrying anything!” the man stammered, shaggy beard waggling as his mouth moved. His eyes were starkly white against the mud smeared over his face. Henry wound his arm back to ready a strike. “Alright fine! Please!” he screeched, reaching to his belt and dropping a curved dagger to the floor. Like a cobra who favoured a tidy floor, Henry’s pick snapped outwards and pulled the dagger away before either the man or Elizabeth knew what was happening.
“You seem to have a fairly loose grasp on the truth.” Elizabeth snapped. It was easier to take her frustrations about poor manners out on the cowering man than on Henry. “You’re wearing that bandit’s jacket so you clearly did something with his body, and there’s something of a trail leading this way. How dare you lie to us?”
“I’m sorry! I panicked. You wandered into my camp with weapons drawn, what do you expect me to do?” He cowered.
“Of course we did! You stole the body of that man who attacked us and then you stalked us through the forest!” Elizabeth argued.
“I didn’t stalk you! I was already here!”
“You…” Elizabeth stopped. He had a point. “You took the body and then claimed you didn’t know anything about it, though. That’s not very trustworthy is it?”
“Nor is cutting down my hiding place and holding me at blade-point!”
Elizabeth had no way or arguing with that. She looked to Henry for help.
“I will keep the professor safe no matter what. You’re a threat. You stole that bandit’s body and probably his weapons, and I suspect that you might try the same thing he did.” Henry said. Elizabeth thought that sounded about right.
“No I won’t if you killed him! I don’t want to get killed! I just thought he was your friend and you were looking for him but… but fine. I took the body here to take whatever useful stuff he had. But what I definitely did not do, right, was cook and eat him." He said, fixing Henry and Elizabeth with his best attempt at a sincere look, one with which they should not feel the need to argue  or raise questions.
"Really?" Elizabeth asked, making it sound more like a statement. "Because that’s an incredibly specific claim and to be honest we don't actually have a problem with cannibals. Everyone needs to eat and I won't claim another's tastes are any less valid than my own." She continued. Henry frowned slightly and cast his mind back, running through their various travels in his mind. True enough, he couldn't recall any times when Elizabeth had expressed a problem with cannibalism. He gave a supportive 'I guess not' shrug and pout combo. "But what we do have a problem with is liars. You know where you stand with a cannibal; they just won't let you go to waste if you die. And maybe they'll try to off you if they get peckish, I suppose, but that’s an aside. A liar, though, would probably make you think that everything was fine while they prepared the stock and gathered the herbs. So if you have any revisions to make to your statement then now would be the time to inform us."
The man swallowed. His mouth had been empty and dry, but he’d swallowed regardless because it felt like the thing that fear was spurring him to do.
“Now that I think of it,” he started “I did find the body, drag it back through the woods to my camp here, loot it for clothes and supplies, and then cook and eat some of it. The rest of it is wrapped up in leaves to eat later.”
“Thank you.” Professor Renwick said graciously. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes.” He answered honestly.
“And it is…”
“Walter.”
“Hello then, Walter. My name is Elizabeth. Can we count on you not to attack us if I ask Henry here to lower his weapons?”
“You can count on me not to attack you even if he keeps them raised.” Walter said, eyes fixed on the point of the pick closest to him. Henry found that amusing, because he was intending to strike unseen with the other pick if anything kicked off.
“Suits me. Henry?”
With a curt nod Henry lowered his picks back to his side but didn’t allow his attention to waver. It didn’t make Walter feel any safer.
“Do you live here, Walter?” Professor Renwick asked, some of the interrogative edge melting away from her voice in favour of her normal curiosity.
“Yes.”
“Lived here for long?”
“I don’t know anything about any other disappearances, alright! I only take the bodies, I don’t kill anyone.” He said defensively.
“Erm… alright. Good. I was wondering more about how well you know the plant life.”
Walter’s eyes narrowed as he tried to work out exactly how Elizabeth was threatening him with that statement. There had to be something in there to worry about.
“I don’t kill them either.” He tried.
“Yes, that’s very good. But if I were to show you a sketch of something from my notebook would you know whether it grows here, or where to find it?” She explained patiently.
“Oh. Maybe.” Walter replied, keen not to overcommit. The consequences of breaking a commitment when Henry was around didn’t bear thinking about. Henry smiled at Walter as if understanding his thoughts.
“Pack please, Henry.” Professor Renwick asked. Henry took a side-step to place himself between Elizabeth and Walter, allowing his back to be turned to the professor without lowering his gaze from the cannibal. In his heart he knew that he didn’t really distrust the man, but it was his job to keep the professor safe whether or not he trusted people.
Walter tried to avoid eye contact with Henry while Elizabeth pulled the notebook from his enormous backpack. Thoughts raced through his mind about how he could possibly escape but every one of them ended with Henry’s hand around his throat, Henry’s pick in his spine, or Elizabeth’s heavy notebook lodged in his skull. The only viable option was to stand around and tremor.
“Let me find it… resolutis…” Elizabeth muttered as she re-emerged around Henry with her notebook, flicking through pages studiously. “This one.” She finally said, turning the pages to face Walter.
Sketched in intricate detail was a small, unassuming bush with curved leaves and a serpentine, twiggy branches. There were cross-sectional diagrams, magnified representations of the buds and the flowers, petal and leaf samples, and an artist’s impression of what might happen if the plant were to be dropped into a gorge. Walter barely needed a second or anything more than the basic overview diagram.
“I recognise that. It grows in a few places around here, in patches all over the hillside.” He said excitedly, wondering if he’d won his life by recognising a weed.
“It does? That’s brilliant news. I’d like you to lead us to the nearest grove of resolutis please.” Professor Renwick asked courteously. The Henry factor meant that there was no real way of refusing, but that was no reason to ignore basic manners.
“I mean… I’d rather just be left alone, but…” he looked at Henry’s muscular frame and sharp weapons again. “… but I’d love to.”
“Fantastic! Lead the way.” Elizabeth beamed.
“Makes a change to following insects around, I suppose.” Henry observed. Walter rather wished he was an insect. At least then he’d have been able to fly away.
 
Three pairs of boots now marched through the forest, mistletoe observed. In the front were the familiar boots of the cannibal, who shuffled hurriedly without looking back and seemed to be rushing somewhere for reasons of his own. Behind were the two intruders, walking side-by-side and occasionally making sounds at one another in the way that those bipedal animals seemed to enjoy so much. It wasn’t entirely sure what the fungus was up to, but it made for better viewing than the underside of a monarch’s leaves.
“Perhaps it’s regular dragging of bodies and scattering of nutrients or spores or something.” Elizabeth said. It didn’t really follow the flow of her pervious statement, which had been about the snow-sided bee’s preferred flower colours, but Henry had learned that her stream of consciousness was never free of meanders. It rarely even flowed downhill.
“I don’t think bees drag bodies very often at all.”
“Hm? Oh, no. Sorry. I was thinking about the line of mushrooms leading to Walter’s hovel. They shouldn’t grow like that, but if he’s always dragging corpses in then it could be making regular disturbances of the ground and freeing up things for the fungus to eat or grow on.” She explained.
“Maybe so.”
“It’s not like he’d be able to plant them like that himself to mark the path home.”
“Maybe the fungus was trying to tell you something…” Henry said with a raised eyebrow and smirk.
“I think we can probably discount that possibility, don’t you?” Elizabeth said with a roll of her eyes.
Clustered around the roots of a nearby oak the fungus watched sheepishly as the three of them marched by. It hadn’t been anticipating this at all. When the other two had wandered into someone before they’d promptly killed them. The plan had banked on them doing the same again to get rid of the strange interloper who kept picking and eating all the mushrooms, as well as depriving them of fresh bodies on which to feed. The three of them teaming up had been entirely unforeseen, and decidedly worrying. It was hard to envision how a trail of freshly blooming caps could be used to turn this situation around.
“There you go! There.” Walter cried suddenly, pointing to a small patch of green bushes that grew in a stray beam of sunlight. Elizabeth immediately ran over, dropped to her knees and started to pore over it. Henry positioned himself behind Walter, staying out of knife range but within pick range. Walter shivered.
“He’s right! It’s a whole hedgerow of resolutis!” Elizabeth squealed excitedly. “Don’t touch any of it, whatever you do. I’m going to take a few samples.”
“Yes, professor.” Henry said.
“Can… can I please go now?” Walter pleaded. He could feel every inch of Henry’s shadow.
There was no reply.
“Please?” he asked again.
Still nothing.
“Professor?” Henry shouted. Elizabeth’s head snapped back up.
“Hm? Sorry. I was concentrating. What?”
“Walter would like to leave.”
“Oh, well it would be good to have a guide to the other patches of resolutis…” she said. Walter started to squirm and writhe in place. “…but I think we can probably find them ourselves. I have no further need of your services. Thank you very much Walter, and I’m sorry we gave you a fright.”
“Thank you. No problem. It’s fine.” He said, panting with his eyes as wide as they could get. He hadn’t felt Henry move yet.
“Henry, would you please give Walter his severance?” she asked.
Walter dropped to the floor with a whine. He should have known this was a one way trip. No-one ever let a cannibal just be about their business.
“Here you are, Walter. For your troubles.” Henry said calmly.
Walter remained on the ground for a moment. That wasn’t the kind of battle-cry a bloodthirsty murderer let out when they executed a prisoner, and there hadn’t been a pinch of steel in the back of his head yet. Cautiously he turned to face upwards, and saw Henry offering a small pouch, as well as the curved blade that had been removed from his grasp earlier.
“Oh?” he said suspiciously, slowly climbing back to his feet.
“Standard fee for a guide, and your knife back.” Henry explained. He didn’t try to fight the amused smirk.
“Right. Thank you.” Walter said, taking them gingerly from Henry and half-expecting them to be snatched away again. They stayed safely in his hands. The bag of coins was satisfyingly heavy.
“I’ll be listening out for you, Walter.” Henry smiled. With a flinch Walter started to scamper away in the direction of his camp.
“Oh, Walter?!” Elizabeth shouted. Scrunching his eyes tight, Walter stopped in his tracks and waited. “The king’s men might be less understanding than we were. There’ll be a lot of them coming here soon for this resolutis, I imagine, so you’d best find a new place to live or a new diet.” She said.
With a sinking feeling for the future Walter nodded and then started running.
 
Two months passed after the three bipeds walked together, and the fungus reflected upon it. Despite not going quite as intended, the plan to get rid of the cannibal had sort of worked out in the end; he’d picked up the scattered objects that he kept at his camp and very quickly left the forest that same day. It had seemed like a rousing, if circuitously achieved, success at the time. Now, however, watching the dozens of boots trooping backwards and forwards, it was forming that opinion that there had been nothing to complain about in the first place.
All of the new boots seemed obsessed with the same bushes that the cannibal had led the others to, so there was no plausible way of denying that the fungi had brought these things on themselves. It was such a surge of activity that even the monarchs had taken notice. Then again, they didn’t have much choice when the saws came out.
What had once been another shaded corner of the Pleo Forest was now an open meadow of stumps and resolutis, with ruts forming where wheelbarrows were pushed in and out with clippings from the bushes. The monarchs had stood in the way and been cut down for their efforts, taking the mistletoe with them. Many of them had been carved up and used for the cabins and tools that were now harvesting their kingdom, which was grimly fascinating but not exactly desired by the fungi. They might not have respected the monarch’s reign, but they hadn’t wished for such a devastatingly effective revolution.
Desired or not, the times had definitely changed. The fungal underground was now on the surface and trying to go unseen, thinking carefully about its manipulations, hiding among the stumps of their former rivals and no more of a ruler than they had been before. But resolutis, the unassuming poisoner that had been downtrodden by the monarchs and deprived of light for so long, had thrived.