The mist hung thick the next morning, dampening their cloaks and making the forest floor squelch underfoot. Their supplies were dwindling— a handful of dried berries, a strip of salted meat, and the last of their hardtack. "We need fresh food," Isabella said, her stomach growling. "Hunting small game isn't working— the mist scares them off."
Leon scanned the forest, his eyes settling on a fallen log covered in moss. It was soft, rotting from the inside out— the perfect home for mushrooms. Back in Acorn Village, he'd saved spores from edible mushrooms during his foraging trips, tucking them in a small leather pouch. "I have an idea," he said, rummaging in his pack.
He pulled out the pouch, sprinkling the fine, dark spores over the log. "Mushrooms grow on rotting wood— especially in damp places like this. If we keep it moist, they'll sprout in a few days."
Isabella frowned. "We don't have much water to waste."
"We won't waste it," Leon replied, grabbing their dew collection troughs. "We'll use the mist— just like our dew traps." He lined the base of the log with wet moss, then propped the troughs around it to catch condensation. "Every morning, we'll pour the collected dew over the log. It's enough to keep the spores damp."
They built a small lean-to over the log to shield it from direct sunlight— mushrooms thrived in shade. Leon checked the log hourly, adjusting the moss to keep it moist, while Isabella searched for edible ferns to supplement their diet. By the third day, tiny white pins poked through the moss, growing taller by the hour.
On the fifth day, the mushrooms were fully grown— fat, creamy caps with gills underneath, identical to the edible ones from Acorn Village. Leon plucked a handful, brushing off the moss. "They're safe," he said, taking a bite. "Nutritious, too— full of protein."
Isabella took a tentative bite, smiling as the earthy flavor hit her tongue. "Better than hardtack," she said, grabbing more. They fried the mushrooms in a little camellia oil, sprinkling salt over them— a simple meal, but one that filled their bellies and lifted their spirits.
Leon left a few mushrooms intact, harvesting only the caps so the mycelium could regrow. "This log will keep producing for weeks," he said. "We won't go hungry as long as we stay close."
As they ate, Leon thought of Kael's notes— how the old apprentice had survived by working with the land, not against it. The mushrooms were a reminder: survival here wasn't about dominating nature. It was about understanding it, adapting to it, and taking only what you needed.