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The Great Monarch of the Forest - By Forseti Fox

[This story is M/M, and contains themes, besides general sexuality, of hypnosis, drugging, domination, bondage, facesitting, slight watersports, all-the-way-through cum inflation, and male pregnancy. Enjoy!]

I’ve always been an avid backpacker. It probably started when I was young. I was part of the local troop of scouts all throughout elementary school, and didn’t really stick with it when I became a teenager, but definitely did my fair share of outdoorsmanship. I spent weekends camping in tents, hiking twenty-or-so mile-long trails, learning how to start a fire from nothing but matches and the things I found in the woods; stuff like that. I had even figured out which mushrooms were edible, and which ones were less so, figured out where to find wild berries, and I could even manage a ten-mile stretch without even so much as a minute-long break. I had a pretty astonishing athleticism hidden in my tiny, five-foot-six, rabbit frame, covered in fur begging to get dirtied. Even though there was a gap in the hiking action for me in high school, I did get back into it later in life. However, my new hobby would soon lead to a complete lifestyle change, as something I stumbled across would keep me in the woods; permanently.

Don’t worry, though, I didn’t die or anything. I’m recording the following in my spare spiral notebook, hopefully someone on this trail will find it and, well… get a kick out of it, let’s just say.

I was college-aged, visiting my parents’ one summer, when I found myself in the basement, looking through old boxes of the things I had when I was young. Among old dinosaur encyclopedias, loose board game pieces, and stuffed animals, I found a moderately enormous box with things like a backpack, a canteen, a single-person tent, a pocket knife, and other camping supplies. It all came back to me; the smell of pine needles in the wind, the feeling of a gentle breeze blowing on my face, the lull of crickets chirping while you gently close your eyes to sleep right under an inky sky, awash in starlight. I decided then that I could stand to have a hobby again, and braving the great outdoors would be the perfect hobby to blend having a good time with giving me pretty impressive bragging rights.

I started small, though. I only had a few friends in the nursing program I enrolled in at my college, and none of them had any interest in going on a walk through a public park, let alone spending a week alone in the woods. I had friends back in high school, but I decided to study a good half-dozen states away, so it would have been pretty tricky to have them drive over at a short notice. I was going to be tackling this backpacking hobby alone, which meant I had to study hard and make sure I was as safe as possible. Sure, wild coyotes and the average black bear are pretty easy to intimidate into running away, and most people can go three weeks without eating, but that being said, I had my eyes set on huge, fifty-plus mile trails, where it would be very possible that I could break a bone, or get hypothermia in a late-autumn rainstorm, and nobody would find me for weeks. I’d start small, maybe pack a lunch and do a day trail every weekend, and see if I couldn’t craft the odd meal with things in the woods; berries, roots, mushrooms if I’d be so bold. I wouldn’t do anything more than fifteen miles. That was the largest a trail nearby would get anyway, what with me being only on the cusp of the Northwoods forest range. There would come a day, though, where I’d have to drive out six hours for a trail. I couldn’t quite drive that, walk around all day, then drive the same six hours back without being exhausted. I was safe, and wanted the practice, so I hiked, one day, then two, then maybe three, and then, six months later, right in the middle of fall, I would start my first week-long excursion.

I was going to hike in a state park, right up against the border of Canada, while still remaining in Minnesota. I had gotten pretty good at starting a fire quickly, getting my tent up and down in minutes, bringing enough supplies so as not to starve, but also not destroy my back in the process. I was going to bring my phone, but turn it off to conserve battery, and only use it in an emergency. I let my friends and parents know where I was; they were nervous, of course, but they trusted that I could do this. I was going to survive the wilderness all by myself.

Now, something did happen that would make me throw everything off balance, and I will get to that shortly, but the... occurrence didn’t take place until the fourth day of hiking. I won’t get too into details, it was mostly me walking around in the woods, journaling, eating, or reading a book when I needed a break, and learning everytime I caught a whiff of my underarm that I would be needing a shower when I got back. I know there are musk enthusiasts out there in the world, but at this point in my life, I considered myself to be straight vanilla. I messed around with a few guys, but never got anywhere truly kinky; I used to brag that I was bold enough to swallow someone’s load. All that being said, the more I hiked, the more I imagined how much I’d appeal to people with more rugged, scent-based inclinations.

The forest up there was gorgeous though; magnificent emerald pines dancing an arboreal waltz with blazing, fiery-leaved deciduous trees amidst the rocky ridges and deep valleys. Babbling streams poured into the countless small little lakes, distributing crystal clear water. Deer bounded everywhere. Bird song put Mozart to shame. Various mushrooms grew in vibrant colors against the trees that found themselves to be post-life. There were more stars in the sky at night than grains of sand on a beach. I wouldn’t see a single other person for that whole week.

Pardon the poeticism. It’s definitely not important to the story, but I have to gush about the forest with flowery language at least once. Hiking in the woods as often as I have sort of inspired me to write about it, and I learned to love a good metaphor.

I was halfway through the trail; I had chosen to make it a loop so that I wouldn’t be in the same place twice. I had gotten up with the dawn, the birds and sunrise functioning as my alarm clock, and cleaned up camp, making sure to take extra care with the makeshift fireplace I caused. I untied the ropes keeping my food aloft in the trees; something you have to do so as not to be at the mercy of wild bears, and started on my way. I had forgotten what day it was, though I wasn’t really keeping track of that at all. I was in the middle of a gap semester, anyway, so I could be out here for months if I needed, despite planning on only being out here for a week. I walked, in silent meditation, and enjoyed nature in all of its glory.

I tend to get hippy-dippy about the woods in general, but it was sometime around three in the afternoon when I noticed that, somehow, I had gotten an actual, high-adjacent buzz going.

I would almost equate it to smoking weed, which isn’t something I’d ever indulged in, if anyone asks, and I didn’t really notice it hit at all. I just sort of realized partway through my hike that I was feeling dizzy. I definitely didn’t bring any substances with me; it’s far safer to get high in your home than it is alone in the middle of nowhere. At this point, the dirt trail was skirting a ridge, slowly inclining, though keeping a position in the middle of the elevation. There were mostly pine trees, and more tan-and-brown mushrooms than I’d seen anywhere else on the trail. A small stream sat at the bottom of the ridge, to my left, quietly bubbling away. It wasn’t entirely impossible to fall and hurt yourself, in as much as little cliffs would sometimes meet with the edge of the trail where the elevation became a bit more steep, so I decided to sit by a pile of rocks and boulders, drink some water, and try to figure out what was going on. I was definitely eating enough, and there was no way it was hot enough for a heat stroke, not that the foliage overhead would let too much sunlight beam against my white-furred head anyway. Not to mention, I usually don a cap. I was rubbing my head, still disoriented after a minute of resting, and realized that the weird sensation wasn’t going anywhere.

In fact, the colors all around me began to grow more and more vibrant; the green of the pine needles, the blue of the sky, the… red, purple, and orange of the mushrooms?

The same feeling as earlier; I didn’t notice the mushrooms changing color, the realization that the mushrooms were already multicolored hit me out of nowhere. I also began to see soft, floating orbs in the air, no larger than a snowflake, but definitely visible to my naked eye. I couldn’t figure out if I was breathing them in, or if the weird, dust-like tickling sensation in my nose and mouth was psychosomatic. Either way, I felt soft, gentle particles fill my nostrils, and almost seem to pour throughout the entirety of my head, filling my skull with a soft, warm glow. The sensation moved upward, warming up the tops of my long, lagomorphic ears, and then began to work itself downward, to my chest, my arms, my fingers, even my toes. It was as if I were snuggled underneath five blankets on a cold, winter night. I felt cozy, but I also felt hot; almost too hot. I’ve heard that sometimes, a symptom of hypothermia is a feigned sense of overheating the colder you get, but the temperature around me was significantly above the freezing point. I wasn’t in any danger. I started stripping, at first my pants and shirt, but then I realized no one was going to see me, and I was still very warm, so the underwear and socks went too. I didn’t care about getting my soft, white paws too dirty, it’s not like they were pristine-white in the first place. I clumsily shoved my clothes back into my neatly ordered backpack, my head too fuzzy for me to organize anything well, and I lied there, right on the trail, too exhausted and comfortable to want to move at all.

That’s when I heard his voice

Come around the corner, little one.

It came from inside of my head. It was definitely a hallucination, I looked around, and there was nobody to be seen, not on the trail, nor down the ridge by the water. I only saw the brightly colored landscape pulsing steadily, but didn’t seem to mentally conjure up any person. The voice sounded like it was right behind me anyway, were I to believe someone real uttered it, instead of just some pre-established imaginary voice. I nonchalantly looked ahead, and noticed the trail turned left a few meters off, the corner hidden by a small cliff face. The voice persisted.

Keep going, pass the corner. You’re safe with me, little one, don’t you worry.

Whoever was speaking, he was right. I should go past that corner. It would be a good thing that I did what he told me to do. I slung my pack over my shoulder and sauntered forward, beaming with the same lovely warmth I felt earlier. Now that I was naked, my body felt as though it was at the correct temperature. The sun felt nice on my snowy fur, but so did the cool, gentle breeze. I didn’t feel an urge to question anything, either. Whatever was happening to me became a comforting reassurance as opposed to a worrying drugging that came out of nowhere. I rounded the corner to see the cliff face break off into a far easier gentle slope, pierced with the odd rocky outcropping. I could definitely walk up, easy. And towards the middle, I saw a small, modest little cave, with a mouth less than a meter tall.

Go into the cave.

I was definitely going to delve. It was the strongest desire I had ever felt at that point in my life, and I had no difficulty pacing up the easy incline to meet that desire. The tiny, soft clouds of yellow orbs began to grow denser and denser the closer I got to the cave’s mouth, and my head kept swirling in its noncohesive daze to match that density. Mushroom caps of every shape and color crowded around the entrance, still leaving me a path to traverse, and as I stepped inside, I saw that the fungal garden bloomed even brighter. Out of the sun, I saw that the mushrooms began to glow in soft blues and greens, making it quite easy to see around, though I did also notice that the cave was far smaller than I was, causing me to resort to crawling. Down, down, down, I went, just over a meter, until I noticed that there was a much larger opening; a geological antechamber. I had wanted nothing more than to follow further down and meet the magnificent voice resounding in my head. I slid the rest of the way down, the loose dirt giving way, getting into my fur. My backpack slipped off, caught on some rocky outcropping in the ceiling, and dangled there, unattached to my back. I slid further, and landed without any semblance of grace, facedown in the dirt and webbing of mushrooms, but then, I looked up.

He was sitting there, a massive, gray-furred bear easily larger than twice my size, sitting on what looked like a throne, made of stalagmites, fungal strings, and glowing mushroom caps. Not only was this mycorrhizal network weaving its way through the stone seat, as well as the cave around me, easily being a half-circle with a good five-meter diameter, but it seemed to grow into the bear as well. The fur on his old, wrinkled face seemed to be covered with almost a lichen or a mold, with small, little fungal cups sticking out of his jowls, and colorful red caps grew out of the top of his head, almost like a crown. The mushrooms became larger and larger further down his ridiculously muscular body, paired with the same mold-like growth in an elegant waltz within his fur. He had black, fungal strings coursing in and out of his body, getting underneath his fur without dripping blood, penetrating his mouth and ears, binding him to his seat, and dripping some sort of ooze. He smelled quite rank; a mix between sweat, musk, old wood, and mildew, but the scent didn’t register in my brain as gross. My addled mind breathed it in like an expensive wine, savoring the aroma with each deep breath I took. I slowly ambled towards the bear, still crawling. He remained, sitting on his back end, eyes closed. He was completely naked, his flaccid cock resting gently over his massive, grey furred balls, already close to a foot long soft.

Come, little one, come inhale my scent.

A sensation even stronger than the urge to traverse the cave washed over me like a wave. I scrambled even faster to reach him, wasting no time. I wanted my face to be perpetually bound underneath his armpits for the rest of my life, if I could figure out a way to convince the ursine to let me. I crawled up, holding onto his knees with my puny arms, fully saying out loud, “Yes, sir. Anything you’d like.” The strange thing was, I had never been into musk play before, but the urge to drink in his musk was a desire deeper than even lust; I felt as though I owed my existence to it. I was in agony whenever my face wasn’t pressed against his fur. Wherever these thoughts were coming from, they were not my own, but the sheer pleasure that accompanied them was stronger than anything I had felt before.

Refer to me as “Your Majesty.”

I climbed into the self-proclaimed king’s lap, kissing his chest as I dragged my muzzle towards his left armpit, pressing it hard into his fur, mumbling a muffled response; “Yes, your Majesty.” I breathed him in, the moist, hot smell of a powerful male, imprinting himself onto a willing sub. A fungal, almost rotting taste spilled over my taste buds, but the more I licked, the more I craved that flavor. Tasting the mushrooms on the old bear’s body also heightened my dizzy, floating sense, only causing my trance to deepen. I didn’t even feel any nausea one might expect from eating wild mushrooms. I closed my eyes and pressed up into the bear’s armpit, thrusting my whole muzzle into the folds to get an even closer feeling; until all I could sense was him.

Just then, a thin, wood-like appendage began to wrap around my ankles, then wrists, then tail. I drew my muzzle from its ursine sheath to see that the same, fungal shoe-string structures that weaved into the whole of the cave were moving from the old bear towards me. I saw a few reach for my tailhole, as well as my nose and mouth. I tried to pull away, but, being far smaller than the monarch of the cave, I only pressed in vain, his forceful biceps wrapping around my face to once again bury my muzzle into his musky pits.

Worry not, little one, you won’t feel any pain.

And just as his voice once again rang in my ears, I felt the same overwhelming wave of calm and bliss wash over. The little strings probed my various holes, worming their way inside, though it only tickled as they moved gently and gracefully, rubbing against both the space in the back of my head, and the deep insides of my backend, tickling me right up to the point of overstimulation. He even began to probe inside my arms and legs themselves, making tiny, little holes, although no incision caused any pain. Only little pricks as each strand of hyphae wound their way into each little nook and cranny of my body. Soon enough, with how tightly some strings were bound to my limbs, as well as how taut the strings infiltrating my body held me, I was completely bound, weak against the tightly knit web of nature’s bondage keeping me in place.

I am going to breed you. Soon, you’ll be carrying a part of me, letting me grow inside of you.

And just like that, I had wanted nothing more than to bear this bear’s children. Thoughts of wanting children never crossed my mind before, let alone the fantastical aspect of male pregnancy, but all logic flew out the window the more his scent seeped into my head. I solely wanted to carry his seed inside of my fantasy womb, to feel his spores take hold of my own body and grow. I wanted to become a part of his powerful mycorrhizal network. I wanted to be a part of his family. I lapped up with an even harder voracity, spurned on by his scent, by his dominating presence, but then I started to feel the hyphae pull me. The fungal king shifted his gray-furred hips a little, and he stared down, wordlessly grinning as the strings turned me over so I was lying with my back in the seat, face-up. The bear once more shifted his weight and sat his ass right on top of my face.

Right away, his scent shifted. The sharp, sweaty musk of his underarm shifted to a deeper, more savory taste of ass sweat. Still strained by the fungal binds, as well as the massive weight pressing me into the stone throne, I nevertheless tried to force my face deeper into the ursine’s hole with a ravenous thirst. I thrust my whole muzzle further in, developing a thorough tongue-fucking rhythm. His fungal taste dissolved in my saliva and pooled in the back of my throat. I lapped it up eagerly, drinking in his hot, sweaty ass with my nose as well. I strained against the hyphae keeping me tied, but only in as much as I wanted to shove as much as my face into his godly backend as I could.

And just then, I felt my limbs and body pulse with a low thrum. I couldn’t feel anything liquid pour into me, but I could feel the fungal strings start throbbing, spilling their spores all throughout my entire body, no doubt. I relaxed, and fully allowed the fungus to take over my body, still eagerly rimming the bear’s musky ass. I only wished that I could grip onto his hips, so as to pull my mouth deeper into his hole, but the feeling alone of carrying his fungal seed inside of me sparked an unparalleled pleasure that I’d never felt before. I continued licking, feeling the hum, and I could almost hear him moan in pleasure, though it was surely coming from inside of my head. I, too, moaned, muffled softly by his massive bottom smothering my muzzle. Soon enough, though, the ursine king began to psionically speak once more.

You may now give my cock pleasure, little one. Come up, I want to fill you with more of my seed.

The bear once more repositioned his hips, sliding them off my squished little face, beaming with sheer joy. I was once again stricken with an intense longing, sharper than a blade, to welcome the bear’s cock into my tight little hole. The fungal strings relaxed a bit, and I was able to sit up fully, the taste of hot, mammalian sweat still in my mouth. I siddled against the massive ursine’s frame, leaning into him as he lifted up my tiny body with one arm, and positioned me in his lap, facing him. I was still in a dizzy, trippy haze of soft colors all around me, so I didn’t see just how thick his cock had gotten until I felt it slide between my legs. I gulped; he was easily over a foot long, and thicker than my forearm. His cock was large enough to even stick out past my little nub of a rabbit tail. I tensed a bit, even through the powerful hypnotic influence, but once again, his calming, psychic voice made its presence felt once more.

Here, suckle upon the mushroom growing out of my left shoulder. It will numb the pain enough for me to slip inside of you.

I did as I was told; I started nuzzling the largest of a small patch of brown-and-tan mushrooms growing out of the king’s shoulders. It was the size of my own cock while soft, not even longer than a few inches, and tasted strongly of portabella mushrooms weirdly enough, but the more I suckled on it, the more the fog inside of my mind grew thicker and thicker. Every sense of touch was a pleasing one, causing my tailhole to unclench drastically as the bear slid his enormous rod across my taint, slathering copious amounts of pre into my white fur. I moaned quite audibly into the grey, musky fur on his chest, the mushroom causing every little touch to elicit sheer pleasure. Then, he grabbed my hips and lifted me in the air a few inches, sliding the tip of his cock so that the head was aimed right at my hole. The position was a bit uncomfortable, both from the weird position of my legs and hips, but also psychologically, from the fact that my mind only wanted for his whole member to slip inside of me, no doubt a response to his mental influence on my mind. A small amount of fluid shot into my hole; either pre, or piss even, to lube it up, and the complete relaxation of my inner butt muscles let it shoot a good distance inside of me. Then, his arms reached up along my back to grab onto my shoulders and push me all the way down onto his cock; my loose muscles offering no resistance whatsoever. It didn’t hurt at all, only shot a warm, soft feeling of pleasure throughout my entire backend, especially as he slid past my prostate. I could feel him go on and on, sliding well past the record of anything I’d ever taken down there, and doubling it. He held tightly in a vice-grip bear hug, and then, for the first time, whispered in my ear through his mouth.

“I’m going to grow inside of you, into every part of your body, little one. I’m going to fertilize you.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” I responded in a soft, weak little voice.

That’s when he started humping, slowly at first, sliding about half of his length inwards, then outwards. In, and out, with a slow, yet hard deliberation, slicking up the entirety of my insides. No matter how much I stretched, the fungal influence only loosened my sphincter the more he pushed. My body refused to put up any resistance.; I was no more than a soft little fleshlight for the gray-furred bear. Not that I was complaining; I clutched tightly to his back. Holding on as he probed deeper inside of me than anyone had ever been before. And not only did he hump my hole, I could feel more of the same thin, black strings probe into my body, even deeper than they had gotten when I was giving the monarch a rimjob. They hadn’t yet caused the same glowing sensation as they had before, an effect, I’d guessed, of the fungal entity shooting spores off all throughout my body, but they did press me tight into the bear’s body. My entire face was blocked by me being pressed into his massive, muscular, furry chest, so my entire vision was cut off, but I could feel his hyphae weaving my body into his, locking me firmly in a tight, fungal web. My legs were bound to his thighs, and my arms were tied into his back. Only my hips remained untethered, only so as to give him a flexible hole to fuck.

And fuck my hole he did; the slow, calculated thrusting pattern that the bear first established started a moderate accelerando. The more he dripped into my insides, the faster he could thrust into me, and I heard his grunts and groans uttering right next to my long rabbit ears. It was crystal clear that a male far more dominant than I was getting pleasure out of fully using his sub. He never pulled his tip out enough for him to ram right into my prostate again, but I could feel the massive length continuously rub up and down against it. Not only did I feel his cock hump faster, I could feel it getting larger. This wasn’t as large as his bearhood could get. The engorgement of his member inside of my malleable little hole coincided with an enlargement of his fungal strings, which in turn held me tighter as it weaved all throughout my arms, legs, torso, and head. More strings started infiltrating my nose and mouth, though none of them stretched me past the point of pain; or maybe they did, but the fungal painkiller, the taste of which I still savored in my mouth, dulled the stretching a bit. Faster and faster, the bear fucked me, and I could feel his fluids pooling a bit inside of my deep insides even before any semblance of an orgasm. Then, I felt the bear take a deep, sharp, inhalation, right before he started fucking me for real. Like a piston, I felt his cock hammer into me, as fast as a bullet train. I started feeling him push into my stomach, and didn’t have any difficulty imagining that his cock was causing a little bulge in my abdomen, like a circus tentpole. His grunts turned into full on growling, causing my to visibly shiver against him, and I felt him grip tighter as he once again spoke:

“Keep suckling on that cap, I’m going to hilt you.”

I did as I was commanded, though I had to suck on the first mushroom potrudence that my mouth could find. My frame was bound too tightly to his chest for me to move my muzzle up to his shoulder again. Truth be told, despite the numbing agent, I was starting to feel the large mammal stretching me to the point of mild discomfort; he was that deep inside of me. The white, fungal cup I lapped at eagerly tasted completely different, more savory, and almost mildewy, though I didn’t gag; the taste was like ambrosia to me at this point. It didn’t ease the pain either, but it still took away my ability to clench my tailhole, so while I couldn’t tighten at all to prevent him from getting deeper, I could definitely feel the stretching. He growled louder, maw fully open to let out the rumbling bass voice, as I whined a high falsetto, muffled by the king’s thick chest. He fucked faster and harder, and his bearhood continued to grow, well past even two feet at this point. I could only clutch hard to leverage against the massive, rapid force thrusting into me. Even if I let go, it didn’t matter; the strings kept me fastened to the ursine frame. There would be no way for me to slide off of his cock, nor for me to escape from his enormous body. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

One last growl, dwarfing the amplitude of his previous growls, ripped through the room. I felt his torso shake as if it were in an earthquake. And with that, he thrust one final time, filling my entire body with nothing but sheer bear cock. I cried out, fully feeling pain blend with the pleasure, and started to feel him shoot not just spurts of cum, but a steady stream, pumping my insides with liter upon liter of hot cum. My stomach began to swell, and I felt his fluids rise up into my throat a little. There was even a hint of a rank, savory smell coming from both of my ends. I was a white balloon, tied to a massive grey post. He came into me for a full minute. My whines started to turn into little gurgles, and as his river of semen finally diminished to the odd spurt here and there, I felt the fungal streams weave his groin to my ass, keeping my body tight onto his, locking me in place.

Then, the glow returned. I felt a warm sensation spill all throughout my limbs, as I imagined he was fully imprinting me with his spores. My paws opened up automatically, despite the rhizomorphs holding me still, and my limbs felt heavy and hot. There was an intense feeling of fullness all throughout my body, let alone the plumpness of my orgasm-filled stomach. Then, after a few seconds of radiant pleasure pouring through me, my body closed up like a nocturnal vine hit with sunlight, wrapping tightly around the whole bear’s frame. I started to feel little growths almost immediately bloom out of my body, and though my vision was still cut off by the bear's hot, sweaty chest, I knew right away that a fungal menagerie, similar to that of the bear king’s, had started to grow out of me. I was to carry the monarch’s seed, and I was ecstatic to feel his offspring grow off of me. I didn’t even get to reach my own climax, and I was in a cloud of pleasure and orgasmic bliss unrivaled by anything I had ever felt before.

The Monarch of the Forest filled my ears with hot, deep breaths, but after a minute of being tied to his cock like a canine knot, and feeling his sperm slosh around in me, he spoke up, using, once again, his real voice.

“You are a remarkable concubine, little one. You’ll be a wonderful mate to rear my royal line.” He kissed my ears softly, I whined a little. “This is your home now; you won’t need to eat or drink. You will draw nutrients from me, and from the forest. Soon, your mycorrhizal system will weave throughout the forest, just like mine, and you’ll be able to carry my seed across the entire forest. In time, you’ll even be able to rear a bear-child, not just a fungal child. The spores inside of you will take to my sperm quite easily.” I whimpered again, though it was a whimper of pleasure, not fear. “For now, though, rest, little one. You deserve to relax after that remarkable display.”

And so, I quickly grew attached to my new home. I was enthralled with the idea of spending my life with this royal deity of the forest. The feeling remained, even when his hypnotic, hallucinogenic influence was enacted. I was in paradise, and couldn’t be happier to be a part of the bear’s royal family.

Of course, I knew people would wonder where I was, which is why I have decided to write all of this out in my notebook and leave it for anyone to stumble across. But by now, you should realize, reader, that I’m not just getting off on this authorial exhibitionism. I write this as a sort of enticement; our fungal network can grow significantly larger should we invite a third member into our family. Should you see little yellow spores drift through the air, and feel an intoxicating desire to follow a voice inside your head, at this point, I imagine you well know that following that voice can only lead to paradise, just like I have found. We hope that my writing can convince you to join our fold. And if you find this notebook, I have no doubt that the Monarch of the Forest and his Rabbit Concubine are right around the corner, inside a little, color-struck cave, ready to welcome you with open arms, and open hyphae.