Art by Brooklynn Bourdeau

This is a "Tasting," a short-short story inspired by a tea I made at my tea company. This particular one is for the "Wild Shape," a wild-grown shu pu-erh. Normally, I suggest ordering a little bag of the tea to drink while reading the story, but this one's discontinued, so just enjoy this very short-short! If you want the vibes of it, though, maybe try the "Wetlands Estate," a different shu pu-erh brick.

You’re running through the forest. Something’s chasing you, but you don’t know what. You’re panicking, dodging from tree to tree, running through underbrush and ducking under logs, but you still hear padding feet behind you. It’s gaining all the while, and you’re not sure what to do.

Something snags your feet, and you tumble down into a hole. It’s disguised with leaves and vines, and even as you fall into it, you see it cover itself up. You’re safe, somehow.

A voice stirs behind you, and you whip around to see who inhabits this tiny hole. There before you sits a small, purple man, mostly humanoid in shape, but covered in odd spores and pustules. You’ve heard of these folk, they call themselves Sporelings, native to a land far from here, with grand mushroom forests like you could only dream of. The Sporeling is sitting on a stump. They beckon you over.

Never one to insult someone who saved your life, you oblige and sit on the stump opposite them.

“You’re being chased,” the Sporeling says in a perfectly neutral voice with no obvious gender or age. “The beast is formidable, and a human cannot defeat it.”

“What makes you say that?” You’re still in shock, but even now your pride shows. You could kill this thing if you wanted. With time. And tools. And more guts than you have at the moment.

“This is an animal, and an indomitable one at that. It takes a beast to kill a beast. A logical, careful thinker such as yourself will never defeat the Jurislag. But I can help.”

The Sporeling, no more than a meter tall, stands from their stump and tends to the fire sitting before you both. They take a kettle of water and pour it in a small receptacle, which they proceed to swish carefully before pouring a brown water from into two cups. They offer it to you.

“Tea?” You ask with trepidation. The Sporelings are fungal-based, not mammalian, so you’re hesitant to drink something considered food to them.

“Tea. Safe for humans.”

You smell it carefully, and the aroma floors you. It smells like the forest distilled into a cup. Like the earth soaking up fresh rain. Petrichor, you think it’s called. You can’t help yourself, so you take a sip.

It’s hot, of course, but it flows through your mouth with ease. It’s light, airy, and yet intense and rich. You know it’s there, and can taste its flavors, but it goes down easy. It tastes like rain, like earth, like nature itself. You sip again, and the flavors fill your senses. It smells like heaven, and tastes like home.

“This will help,” the Sporeling says calmly. “Drink it.”

You do. You drink the cup and they pour you another, which you drink. This goes for ten rounds before you realize each infusion has been just as strong as the last. The leaves in their pot must be insanely strong, as it hasn’t lost a single ounce of flavor. You, on the other hand, feel energized and calm simultaneously.

“You feel a relaxed alertness now,” the Sporeling states matter-of-factly. “This is good. Now close your eyes, and feel the earth around you. Feel nature, and feel the Jurislag.”

In a meditative trance, you reach out with your mind and feel the trees, the leaves, and the grass. You feel the steps of the beast as it sniffs and howls, smelling you somewhere but unable to detect where. It puts a claw to a tree and pushes with all its might, ripping the roots from the ground and toppling the trunk.

“It will destroy the forest looking for you,” the Sporeling frowns. “I know not what you did to anger it, but it must be faced.”

“I can’t face it,” you say dreamily, still in the trance, feeling the beast plodding about. “You said so yourself.”

“You are ready now. The Wild Shape is within you. Feel the world around you and take it in. Manifest it. Let it fill your muscles, shape your hands into claws, let your teeth turn to fangs. Let nature turn you into a beast to fight this monster.”

The earth itself lends energy into your body as you feel it taking shape. Your muscles gorge, bones extend from your fingers and sharpen to claws, your jaw unhinges like a snake and fangs jut out where teeth once were. Your skin hardens into a chitin, and you feel invincible.

“Nature has given you armor and made you into a weapon,” the Sporeling says, smiling. “Do not let it down.”