{"id":894,"date":"2026-05-01T18:26:34","date_gmt":"2026-05-01T15:26:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/?post_type=kazka&p=894"},"modified":"2026-05-02T00:30:51","modified_gmt":"2026-05-01T21:30:51","slug":"hryby-partyzany","status":"publish","type":"kazka","link":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/kazka\/hryby-partyzany\/","title":{"rendered":"Partisan mushrooms"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u23f1 ~5 min reading<\/p>\n\n\n

In the old forest, under a layer of moss and needles, a small detachment lived. Mushrooms that looked ordinary. But in reality, they were real defenders. That's what they were called: partisan mushrooms. Because they acted quietly, imperceptibly, from under the leaves and roots. No forester saw them. No hare noticed them. And they were always here.<\/p>\n\n

The detachment was commanded by old Borovik. His hat was dark brown, hard, with a white lace at the bottom. The leg was as thick as a grown man's arm. He had lived for seven rainy years. Borovik knew everything: how to count the tracks of a deer, to distinguish a good person from an evil one by their step, to call his men together with one quiet sigh that passed through the moss like a wave.<\/p>\n\n

His helpers were of all kinds. The foxes were bright yellow, cheerful, and restless. They stood on the paths and shone like little lanterns. The buttercups were polite, in shiny dark hats, as if they were made of lacquer. The fly agarics were slender, in red hats with white spots, the most impudent of all. They guarded the thickest corners, because they knew that people would bypass them.<\/p>\n\n

The mushroom partisans didn't fight. They just warned. They made sure that whoever came with something bad changed their mind and went home.<\/p>\n\n

One day, at the end of August, when the mornings already smelled of chill and cobwebs, a man entered the forest. He was not angry. Just hasty and a little lazy. A saw gleamed in his hands. A sack was on his shoulder. The man walked straight ahead, not looking down at his feet, rustling dry leaves and muttering to himself:<\/p>\n\n

\u2014 I'm cutting down a young birch tree over there. Beautiful, even. Just right for the new joinery. Who'll notice?<\/p>\n\n

The birch he was looking at stood at the edge of the forest. Young, thin, with white bark with thin black specks. Its leaves trembled with every breeze, and it quietly whispered a neighborly joke to the aspens.<\/p>\n\n

The boletus felt the man immediately. Not with his eyes, but with his foot. The ground gave a slight, alarming jolt through the roots. The boletus lifted his hat, drew in the moist air, and sighed softly. The sigh passed through the moss, and all the mushrooms heard it at once.<\/p>\n\n

"He's going to the birch," said Borovik in a whisper. "It's young. He wants to cut it down. We'll do it as usual - quietly and gently.".<\/p>\n\n

The chanterelles flashed bright yellow. They spilled out onto the path\u2014a whole family, about twenty of them. They stood out like golden sparkles among the brown moss. Unusual. Beautiful.<\/p>\n\n

The man walked and looked under his feet. The forest was dense, the branches were clinging. His gaze caught on the chanterelles.<\/p>\n\n

"Well, mushrooms," he muttered. "So many chanterelles! Maybe I should pick some?"<\/p>\n\n

He stopped. He put down the bag. He put the saw in the grass. He bent down. He began to collect chanterelles in his cap. He collected for a long time. A quarter of an hour passed. The man remembered the birch - and could not find where he had put the saw.<\/p>\n\n

"That's a mess," he grumbled. "It was right there.".<\/p>\n\n

The saw was lying two meters away. But the oilmen quietly covered it with a wide burdock, and the man walked around and didn't see it. He searched and searched. He wiped his forehead. He sat down on a stump.<\/p>\n\n

And then the fly agarics climbed up to the stump. Beautiful, like in the picture. Red caps, white spots. The man wrinkled his nose. The fly agarics gave off a special, sharp smell - not terrible, but such that it made his eyes water. The man sneezed. Then again. Then - three times in a row.<\/p>\n\n

"What is this," he muttered. "An allergy or something?".<\/p>\n\n\n

\"\u0413\u0440\u0438\u0431\u0438-\u043f\u0430\u0440\u0442\u0438\u0437\u0430\u043d\u0438\"<\/figure>\n\n\n

He got up. He tried to walk further - and his sleeve caught on a rosehip branch. His knees began to tremble pitifully, as if he were suddenly very tired.<\/p>\n\n

The man stood. He looked at the birch. Then at his sack. Then at the sawdust, which he finally saw under the burdock. And for some reason he suddenly thought: "Is it necessary? The birch is young. It will grow. Let it stand.".<\/p>\n\n

He picked up the saw, threw it into the bag, took the cap with the chanterelles, and went home. On the way, he thought that perhaps it was not his day. But for some reason, his heart felt lighter. It was as if someone had lifted an extra burden from his shoulders.<\/p>\n\n

When his footsteps faded into the distance, the forest sighed with relief. The birch laughed softly - the leaves rang silver. Borovik raised his hat and winked with his:<\/p>\n\n

"Well done, boys and girls. Quiet and good.".<\/p>\n\n

The chanterelles trembled with joy with their yellow sides. The buttercups modestly lowered their shiny hats. The fly agarics stood slender and happy - they rarely had the chance to do a good deed. Because most people are afraid of fly agarics, but here they were saving a birch tree.<\/p>\n\n

The hedgehog, who was sitting nearby under the fern, watched everything. He snorted quietly and climbed home. Tell your hedgehogs what happened in the forest. Because the forest is alive. It knows how to defend itself. Without shouting, without fighting, without a single harsh word. Simple - wisely.<\/p>\n\n

And the grandmother, who took her grandson Antonchyk to pick mushrooms, told him the following story that evening:<\/p>\n\n

\u2014 You know, little one, inside each of us lives our own little partisan mushroom. Quiet. Modest. It doesn't shout. It whispers. When you want to do something you shouldn't do, it says quietly: "Don't." If you hear it, listen. It protects what's good in you.<\/p>\n\n

Antonchik listened and nodded. It seemed to him that inside him sat a little Borovichok. Quiet, wise, with a tiny brown hat.<\/p>\n\n

"Grandma," Antonchyk asked, tilting his head. "What if I can't hear my Borovichek?"<\/p>\n\n

The grandmother smiled and adjusted her grandson's hat.<\/p>\n\n

"Then stand still. Close your eyes. Listen to your chest. It's there. Always there. Just quiet, because the wise are always quiet.".<\/p>\n\n

The boy stopped in the middle of the path, closed his eyes, and it seemed to him that somewhere deep down, near his heart, someone was gently moving their hat. Anton smiled and walked on, holding his grandmother's hand.<\/p>\n\n

And in the forest under the moss, old Borovik watched them and smiled too. He knew: as long as there are quiet defenders in the forest, the birch will bloom. And as long as there are quiet defenders among people, everything good will bloom too.<\/p>\n\n

And the boy smiled again. Because now he had his protector.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n\n

\u2728 Inside us there is a silent defender of what we love - we just have to listen to it \u2728<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n

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Partisan mushrooms live in the forest. Once a man came in with a saw - and the mushrooms quietly, without a word, defended a young birch tree.<\/p>","protected":false},"featured_media":878,"template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","rank_math_description":"","rank_math_title":"","rank_math_focus_keyword":"","footnotes":""},"kategoriya":[14],"vik":[20],"zhanr":[25,31,26],"class_list":["post-894","kazka","type-kazka","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","kategoriya-kazky-charivnyy-lis","vik-vik-5-plus","zhanr-25","zhanr-31","zhanr-26"],"acf":{"emoji":"\ud83e\udeb5","moral":"\u0423\u0441\u0435\u0440\u0435\u0434\u0438\u043d\u0456 \u043d\u0430\u0441 \u0454 \u0442\u0438\u0445\u0438\u0439 \u0437\u0430\u0445\u0438\u0441\u043d\u0438\u043a \u0442\u043e\u0433\u043e, \u0449\u043e \u043c\u0438 \u043b\u044e\u0431\u0438\u043c\u043e \u2014 \u0432\u0430\u0440\u0442\u043e \u043b\u0438\u0448 \u0434\u043e \u043d\u044c\u043e\u0433\u043e \u043f\u0440\u0438\u0441\u043b\u0443\u0445\u0430\u0442\u0438\u0441\u044c","image_1_prompt":"children book illustration, soft watercolor, enchanted forest, cute mushroom guards in forest patrol formation","image_2_url":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/hryby-partyzany-2.jpg","image_2_prompt":"children book illustration, soft watercolor, magical forest, friendly old boletus mushroom with bright chanterelles and red fly agarics guarding small birch tree, misty moss glade"},"yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/kazka\/894","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/kazka"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/kazka"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/kazka\/894\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1406,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/kazka\/894\/revisions\/1406"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/878"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=894"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"kategoriya","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/kategoriya?post=894"},{"taxonomy":"vik","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/vik?post=894"},{"taxonomy":"zhanr","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/zhanr?post=894"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}