Long ago, when the forest was still learning the language of the rain, a single mushroom grew in the shadow of the oldest cedar. It wasn’t like the others. Its cap shimmered with the colors of the clans—red for fire, green for growth, and black for memory.
The creatures of the woods soon learned that this mushroom was a keeper of stories. When touched gently, it would whisper tales of the past—of ancestors who spoke to whales, of wolves that danced with the northern lights, of rivers that sang lullabies to the trees.
One day, the people forgot to listen. They stopped visiting the forest, and the mushroom’s colors began to fade. But one curious child, following the call of a raven, found the mushroom again. With a soft hand, she touched its cap—and the forest came alive with story once more.
Since then, the people return each season to sit in a circle and listen. And the mushroom remembers everything.
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