[Well, he'd been warned she didn't know anything about mushroom hunting. He snorts when she compares them to morning glories, and he's not even that unkind about it. As they trudge closer to the forest's edge, he digs out his own thermos of coffee from his pack and unscrews the lid. Precious lifeblood.]

They don't close up. It's just a beating the crowd thing. And if there doesn't end up being a crowd, we'll have all day to wait for more to pop up as the ground warms up and snipe those too. But I'm guessing we'll run into Celliwig natives out here, if no one else.