It appears as though we've stumbled into the fungus gardens of the termites, and boy oh boy, are they extensive. From my perch up in the tree I can see that the entire forest on this slope of the mountain has been overtaken by the white mould. From this distance it almost appears as if the land has been blanketed in fluffy snow, but knowing what I know, the scene draws only vague disgust from me, rather than wonder.

Aren't they supposed to keep the fungus garden inside the nest? Why are they letting their mess out all over the place?!

Gross.

I contemplate the act of fungus growing as I pick my way down the tree. There are ants who live off the stuff as well, herbivorous species that don't need to raid and consume other insects in order to survive. Probably the most well-known would be the leaf cutter ants. In massive colonies of up to two million individuals, some of the largest of all ants, the leaf cutters are so named due to the way they farm their food. Enormous work convoys exit the nest to find trees, where fat headed majors use their thick jaws to scissor up the leaves for the smaller workers to carry back home. Once they get it all underground, they feed the foliage to their precious fungus gardens that they feed on. I remember reading that new leaf cutter queens even take a small chunk of the colony fungus with them when they leave, so they can begin to cultivate their own garden once they settle down.

In those instances, the fungus is carefully tended in the depths of the nest, protected by obsessive workers who have to make sure that not a single speck of mould invades and corrupts the food supply. They certainly don't let it hang out all over the place!

Perhaps this has something to do with the kaarmodo? If they cultivated their own queen, or queens, to produce a species of termite carefully designed to fight the Mother Tree and bruan'chii, then it stands to reason they had to engineer a food supply for them as well. Only, it would appear as though they failed to contain it. Or perhaps they didn't try.

[It's a fungus garden, a massive one,] I confirm for the others when I get back down.

[You mean this is all fungus?] Sarah sounds appalled.

[Yep, and you haven't seen anything yet. The forest ahead, all the way up the mountain, is covered in the stuff.]

The giant, fearsome bear, shudders delicately.

[That's terrible,] she says.

[I mean, it's probably a viable source of Biomass. I doubt it's a fungal trap designed to take over our bodies from the inside.]

[Don’t even mention that!] Sarah squawks.

I look at her oddly.

[You seem really adverse to the stuff.]

[I hate moulds and fungus,] she confesses, [always have.]

[Is that a bear thing?]

[It's a Sarah thing,] she tells me firmly, [doesn't matter which life.]

[Fair enough,] I shrug, [anyone prepared to give it a chomp?]

Silence descends for a few long seconds before Tiny decides he's game enough to try and wanders over to s clump of the stuff. He reaches down to pick it up and I see it tear off the ground in his massive, meaty hand. It almost appears fluff-like, almost candy cotton-ish in texture.

In one smooth motion, the giant ape lifts it up and stuffs it into his cavernous mouth. Breathless, we all watch him as we await his response. After chewing thoughtfully for a few moments, Tiny looks at us, then shrugs. Seems like a fairly middling report from the big guy, which must mean it tastes absolutely disgusting. If Tiny isn't enthusiastic about eating it, then I can only assume it tastes like radioactive waste.

[Well, if we aren't going to eat it, we could burn it all as we go or just leave it alone, I suppose.]

Sarah considers my suggestions for a second.

[We're on a rescue mission here, we don’t have time to be trying to burn down a giant fungus garden. If you still have the trail, then I suggest we just keep moving.]

[Sounds good,] I agree, [I've still got the trail, and it's mixed with a ton of termite scent, so we should be careful as we go. We can probably assume that this mountain holds the termite nest itself, which means there's likely a lot of them underfoot.]

Understatement of the century. There could be millions of the critters in this mountain for all we know. Having made our decision, we set off again and are soon engulfed on all sides by the fields of white. It's so weird, the natural vegetation is still alive underneath it, if somewhat diminished by having this white stuff grow all over it, but the mould is just everywhere, to the point we have to walk through it. Tiny carves a trail through the stuff as if he's wading through powdered snow, a wide path of broken fungus strings behind him.

Actually…

As I watch, the fungus begins to reform in his wake, coming back together ever so slowly. It grows so fast! That makes a lot of sense when I think about it. Vibrant came through here with hundreds of ants, there should be a wide path where they stomped through all of this growth, but instead there's no sign of their passage at all! In the time between them running through and us arriving it's completely grown back over.

It seems the kaarmodo must have turbo-charged the growth of this particular fungus in order to feed the voracious appetite of their termite colony. What better way to pump them full of easy Biomass before sending them off to fight the tree?

My antennae waggle back and forth as we push determinedly forward, desperate to stay on the trail that Vibrant left behind, but the further we go, the more concerned I become. Where the hell is she? Her scent remains strong, but I haven't seen any sign of her or her followers at all.

Then I feel something. Is the fungus… shaking?