The northern forests are known by many. Lush green trees all across the landscape, surrounding the great lakes which rest therein. Where the fresh winds bring in the warmth from the south or keeps the freezing cold as winter calmly knocks on the door.

The land is filled aplenty with creatures of all sizes and walks of life, and nature holds a great and plentiful bounty to all who live within her lands.

A gift that is respected by the denizens. The land is for all, and so are the blessings within.

Amongst the pine and the birch. In the trees and in the dirt. All have equal rights to the greatest treasures of life. Food.

And sure, within the enigmatic zones called Mystery Dungeons literal treasure awaits for the brave and strong adventurers.


But for a local, who most knows as the Forager, he couldn't care less about the gold, the gems and fancy doodads hiding in those death traps. Sure, the fruits were always good to grab, but he wasn't a big fan of them.

Instead for the icy ninetales, who's biology had blessed him with the ability to spelunk in the forest all year round, it was the naturally ever changing landscape of his home that attracted him.

Fresh strawberries, so sweet and soft. The bitter and juicy lingonberries that surrounded him. The blueberries that hid amongst the red dots in the landscape, and the odd blackberry if he was around those parts of the forest. All a joy to grab. All so plentiful that he could easily live off those alone.

But no. Something else was what called him into the forest close to every day. A treat so rewarding, yet deceivingly dangerous to those that wouldn't think. A tree that lived in the shade, its life ever fleeting, with any misses being a forever lost chance.

The mushroom. Well, mushrooms. Of all shapes and sizes, and in a color rainbow, poking their glorious caps out of the ground after a refreshing rainfall. And the Forager was out to grab these delicious treats.

But one should not pick every mushroom they see on the forest floor or on the side of a tree.

Many were great, yes, but others deadlier than the aggressive monsters that also lurked around. And the Forager knew, of course. He had been hunting mushrooms since he was a little fox with his parents and was taught what was good and what was bad.

As he got older and did hunts alone, he studied the mushrooms, learned more than what his parents had ever known. What seemed inedible had become like solid nectar when handled the right way. And of course, found a way to turn the poison into something helpful for himself and the local town.

And today was another day with two baskets dangling in his tails as he scoured the forest floor for dinner and wares.


"Hmmm, so how are you, little buddy?" The Forager lowered himself to inspect the mushroom in front of him. Brown cap, milky stock and a fresh white underside. He smiled as he grabbed his knife and a swift motion cut the stock of the mushroom, it falling onto the ground.

He placed one basket on the ground, while he flipped his knife with his weak psychic powers to now use the brush that was on the other side to remove the part of the forest floor that was stuck to the cap and stock.

"Hmm… Not too bad a Penny Bun." He took a final look at the bottom of the stock and gingerly put it into the basket, the mushroom bouncing on some of his other finds for the day.. "A few more of you and I got food for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the rest of the week." he almost sang as he resumed his trek through the forest.


Moss covered the forest floor, hiding rock and small holes alike. Trees towered tall, some needles falling from the pines, as a pinecone knocked on a rock as it hit the forest floor.

The Forager was being slow as he moved, eyes scanning the mossy ground with purpose. Many mushrooms liked the mossy ground, but the one he was specifically looking for especially loved the moss, but unlike the others that proudly poked their heads out of the greenery, this one loved to be nestled cosily within the all consuming forest carpet. He saw brown. Not Penny Bun or Birch Bolete brown, but some of the icky ones he had forgotten the names of. All he needed to know was that they should never, ever be picked.

"Come now my little friends. It's been two weeks, soooooaaaahahahaha!"

His eyes went wide as he rushed forward towards the fields of yellow that had emerged before him. "Hello my beauties! How big and strong you have all grown."

And the chanterelles did nothing. They were mushrooms. They couldn't respond even if they wanted to.

The Forager got his knife out and started to harvest the golden field with joy, his second basket placed in the center of chanterelle heaven, the basket already having a decent chunk of the golden shroom. But nothing, nothing like the amount that was surrounding him.

"Someone's gonna be fat toniiiiight." Him. It was him that was going to be fat tonight.


We are in a field of lingonberry plants and birch trees. And in that field was the Forager, happily picking berries. For what reason? Food reasons of course. To him, lingon mixed with mushrooms was a decent way to start the day and he had a lot of mushrooms to get through.

"These berries look absolutely beautiful today." He tilted his head. "Perhaps I should dedicate a week to grab these for sale in town. Should give me a pretty penny or five." he mused as he continued picking and dropping them in glass jars.

And then he stopped. And he stared. A bright orange bulb looked back at him. He pushed his head into the bushes, his fur getting stuck between the lingon berries as a wide smile grew.

"Well hello my little birch you looking for a place to have dinner?" He chuckled to himself as he picked it up and put it in one of his baskets, letting out a happy sigh. "This is why I love this place. Good stuff every-" And he interrupted himself, bouncing across the berrybush field as he had spotted yet another orange birch bolete. And another. And another.

"My, my, my. Guess my berry picking will have to wait, hehehe."


The cottage got sprung to life as candles were lit by a floating set of match boxes as the ninetales rummaged in his kitchen and dumped his mushrooms on a giant table, quickly grabbing some giant bowls along with some tissues and pulling out his trusty mushroom hunting knife along with a knife usually used for cutting herbs.

He sat at the table and pulled over a mushroom, inspecting it, wiping it clean of any dirt he could, and cutting off anything that stubbornly refused. He then removed the stock from the cap and inspected both.

"By arceus, a perfectly fine specimen. Excellent." And with swift ingrained movements he diced the mushroom into small bits and dropped them in one of the bowls before grabbing the next where he would repeat the process.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

For however many hours it would take to clean, dice and sort all of them.

And all the while, the dim candle light would flicker to the outside world as darkness swallowed it under the carpet of a starry night sky.

And the Forager would happily work until the mushrooms were all done. Such a relaxing and wonderful life that he got. A near perfect life. A life without problems.


Mushroom notes.

Penny Bun: The Boletus Edulis is probably one of the most famous mushrooms known in the world, and is such an edible mushroom that it has edible in its name. Raw, fried or dried, or however else you can think of. It's a real winner. Hell, it's so edible that the only mushrooms you can confuse it with are other edible mushrooms.

Chanterelle: Why this isn't the most famous mushroom is a mystery to me as I'm pretty sure you cannot confuse them with anything else and they're exactly as edible as a Penny Bun. Is it because they look like trumpets, so drawing them or making models of them is harder? Maybe. But good mushrooms nonetheless.

Birch Bolete: Oh boy, now we enter the slightly dangerous mushroom territory. Some are completely fine to eat as is, but some needs to be fried or dried to not poison you. As long as you don't boil them, and make sure they're perfectly cooked, they're good to eat however. But it depends on which species of Birch Bolete you have. The favorite of me and my mother is one with a deep red cap and a redish tint on the stock, which is one of the poisonous ones.


AN: So... I had this idea from a mushroom trip (journey trip. Not the other kind of trip. Or the other other kind of trip) last year. Didn't... do anything with it. So after this years mushroom trip (same definition as before), I started writing the moment I returned home. It's short. It's simple. It's very first drafty, but it was just something silly for fun. Yes, the entire thing is already written. The chapters will roll in over the next couple of days.

Sooooooooo... Yeah.