It went on like that all through the night. By morning,
Jon-Tom was exhausted, but the fungoid forest surround-
ing him was suffused with the first stages of exhilaration… in
a maudlin manner, of course. But by and large, the
group-therapy session had been wildly successful,
Mudge and Roseroar had recovered completely from
their insidiously induced lethargies and were eager to set
out again. Jon-Tom held back. He wanted to make certain
the session would have at least a semipermanent effect, or
it wouldn’t last them through the Moors to the Glittergeist.
“You’ve certainly laid a heavy trip on us, man,” said
the large mushroom that served as speaker for the rest of
the forest.
“I’m sure that if you hold to those thoughts, go with the
flow, make sure you leave yourselves enough mental space,
you’ll find that you’ll always feel better about your places
in existence,” Jon-Tom assured it.
“I don’t know,” said the big toadstool, and for an
instant the veil of gloom which had nearly proved lethal
descended about Jon-Tom all over again. “But just consid-
ering it makes me more inclined to accept it.”
The cloud of despair dissipated. “That’s it.” Jon-Tom
grew aware of just how tired he was. “I’d like to stay and
chat some more, but we need to be on our way to the
Glittergeist again. You wouldn’t happen to know in which
direction it lies?”
Behind him, the shapes of three giant amanitas crooked
their crowns into the mist. “This way, friend. Pass freely
from this place.. . though if you’d like to join us in our
contented dissolution, you’re more than welcome to re-