You woke in the dying room. The smell of corpses thick in your nostrils. At first you thought it was pitch black, that maybe you were also dead. Then you saw the light, the faint glow. The shapes of the mushrooms growing on the bodies, tall and slender, spreading caps above them. With a low hiss, you saw them release the spores in glowing clouds. Then another and another and you tried to hold your breath but you could not, you breathed them in.
You.
Breathed.
Them.
In.
The slow unfurling of the cowl within. The meeting. The conduit. The waking of something that had slept since you were so young you barely remembered the Wyrdwood and the creatures there.