Sour World

It was late summer, so mushroom season was slowly beginning.

Nights were short, so the violets had little time to sleep. During the day, they were unusually lazy, which outraged the bees, who devoted their entire day to useful activities. They probably wouldn't have even noticed the purple flowers if their nectar hadn't tasted of alcohol. The little mushrooms, on the other hand, were happy, because they weren't the only bees dissatisfied with this unusual summer. They were aware that they weren't the only species that loved evening libations. This allowed them to enjoy their post-party state in the morning, ignoring the striped insects that were constantly trying to mother them.

Meanwhile, the lost Lamb walked along a forest path, unsure of where he was going.

He longed for freedom and finally decided to take control of his own life.

As he walked, he immediately noticed a purple clearing at the edge of the forest, inviting with the unusual scent of violets.

His hooves carried him toward the meadow as if it were enchanted. His eyes filled with excitement, and despite the exhaustion of a several-day trip, he picked up the pace. With smooth movements, he strode toward it, and the closer he got, the more intense the colors of the clearing became. His face grinned at the sight of the lazy mushrooms, having lived solely on grass for several days. He looked at them; they were tired, and he knew they didn't have the strength to run away from him. Besides, they lived precisely for the sake of someone enjoying their extraordinary power.

The drunken hallucinogenic mushrooms slept soundly, oblivious.

It was a shame, because they had always had the gift of recognizing the creatures who would make proper use of them. And Lamb would probably have seemed just that to them.

They disliked most when someone confused them with other mushrooms and cooked them into soup, for then they lost their magical power. They also disliked being eaten by people who underestimated their value and considered them merely the hedonistic playthings of postmodern tracksuit-wearers. But fortunately, they rarely found themselves in the enchanted forest. More often, they were lost calves and foals who had the opportunity, in their short lives, to enter the world of magic. Then the gzybki would crane their brown heads as high as possible to be noticed.

The lamb licked its lips and moved toward them. The bees, on the other hand, persistently tried to prevent it from eating the life-giving food. They always did, and the entire forest wondered about their motives.

The frightened animal fled the clearing, and the mushrooms began a brawl with the bees. The magic of the forest was now almost imperceptible, as the buzzing of the bees broke the harmonious silence. A near-war broke out, as the psilocyps believed they had just lost a consumer, one of the few who could use them rationally.

But the Lamb wasn't about to so easily give up the food, which, moreover, so persistently lured him with its scent. He lurked among the nettles, which stingingly stung him, laughing mockingly as he did so.

Fortunately, the atmosphere in the meadow slowly calmed as the sulking bees flew off to pollinate flowers elsewhere. Then the Lamb could finally taste the intriguing capers without interruption, and they reveled in the thought of finally being able to introduce something extraordinary into the young animal's virgin body. They always enjoyed surprising someone worthy with their power, especially since the Lamb had gained them by not giving in to the treacherous bees.

He timidly approached them and, with a tiny hoof, brushed the forest floor from their heads. At first, he began to nibble on the brown caps, but as he sensed the distinctive taste, he began to eat with increasing boldness. He felt as if the mushrooms were smiling at him. He was surprised, because usually he only heard moans when he consumed living plants. But from the first second, this forest seemed different from any place he had ever visited. Everything was saturated with vibrant colors, the trees rustled ominously, and the bees chased him away from the food he longed for. It was as fascinating as it was terrifying.

Yet Baranek knew that life was about taking risks. And slowly, he began to feel that his life motto was perfectly appropriate.

Meanwhile, his terrified mother was waking up the entire forest, which was, after all, miles away. She didn't know that Baranek hadn't left forever. It was just a short excursion, one he desperately wanted to prove to everyone that he was grown and brave. In the eyes of the picturesque tulips where he lived, that was exactly what he was. But his parents had always considered him immature and prevented him from enjoying life's pleasures. And that was precisely why he found himself in the enchanted forest.

Waving his hooves, he longed to snuggle up to the scorched willow tree, which waved its thin branches invitingly. It looked somehow different now than it had a moment ago... Its tiny leaves were delicious. Yes, everything looked more welcoming now, and the forest instantly began to shimmer with a thousand colors in the Lamb's eyes.

Suddenly, the spell was broken, and Beatrise, sour, tried to return to her wonderful dream.