Soft envelope of night drapes over the harsh desert. Searing heat becomes the bitter cold. Huddle together, close, teeth chatter over the nocturnal sounds. But this chattering is met with the unnatural chattering of the wind. Looking up, the desert floats in front of you, both lonely and loamy. Who can even guess what this earthen creature desires? Who can even fathom the wishes of a desert? It’s voice is carried on the wind. All creatures in the desert hear it, but interlopers can never relate.

Uploading my shoddy fanfest shlock. [ebff2011] "She was a simple hobbyist, her passion keeping her out of nasty associations like Happhy Happyisms and the Fresh Breeze Movement. She didn't dabble in Burglin Park's illicit condiment trade. She didn't join in the midnight vigils of Orange Kid's most staunch admirers. No, she thrust herself headlong onto the exhausting path of an ace mycologist. She poured her energy, her time, her money into her craft. She gave it her life and her livelihood. She accrued so many mushrooms. So many. Why did she need them? It was excessive, the obsession consumed her. The need to separate herself from the normal cliques, and then the need to once again belong. The fibrous hivemind of Peaceful Rest Valley's mushrooms. A direct neural link to the planet. Everyone an extension of the same organism, everyone beloved by everyone else. Intoxicating. Humanity was a small sacrifice. Her collection reached critical mass, and she began collecting everything else. People. Trees. The Valley. She is the valley now, they all are. She dearly wants you to fee the same feeling of oneness, of true belonging. She wants the Earth. She wants to become it. The natural primordial push towards survival compounded by human obsession."

[ebff2011] Silly Spook! That's the wrong Paula! Maybe next time, leave those lights on.