You head into the city. It isn't far from where you were. The town sits between the field and the bridge, in a valley of sorts, so the walk is downhill. Crockpot maneuvers your body and is able to get to the top of your head. The other mycelium try and follow suit, but their varying body types get in the way. "Crockpot, how did you get so good at climbing?" you ask.
He scoffs. "I am the mayor of Portabella. I know my way around the tallest of buildings- moving or not."
"I didn't know you were the mayor."
"Yes, I have been chosen to lead this society. It was the divine decree from Mau and Iwiw that I became Mayor."
You decide that explaining how democracy works to a bunch of sentient mushrooms would take a while to talk through. "Sure," you respond.
But that does make you wonder. "How is it that you're the only one who can talk, Crockpot?"
"Hm, well, if you must know, all the mycelium talk. We connect with each other through a network of invisible, incomporeal wires, which allows us to broadcast our thoughts into each other's minds."
Your grandparents explained to you how mushrooms worked once, and your mother is a biologist- but you have a case of poor memory. Mushrooms can communicate with each other, but only small, connected groups of them can, if you remember correctly.
"In fact, we are connected to everything- the wheat field, the Great Bridge, and even the Scarlet Dragon- that is how we know he is in a temperamental mood."
You absolutely do not remember mushrooms being able to communicate with wheat and bridges, let alone dragons.
"Ah, we have arrived."
At the base of the valley lies the town. It is set up like a grid, much like any city, except large stumps create the familiar urban silhouette.
"Come, my fellow Mycellium!"
Slowly, more mushrooms begin to emerge from behind stumps. Some are whole families, connected through each other. Some have odd, bulbous masses protruding from their heads. Some glow faintly. And each one, a tiny pair of eyes.