[Editor’s Note: This Summer, the Wild Card team visited woodland across England in a series of local actions for our Ghost Wood’s campaign. We were accompanied our campaign mascot, a huge lemon slug called Mal. Mal was created by the brilliant team at The Lost Giants. Through the creative process, Amy Webb of The Lost Giants developed a strong connection to Mal as well as to all the lemon slugs and other ancient woodland indicators Mal represents. We are delighted to be able to share with you an Ode to Mal inspired by Mal and the call to Rewild the Ghost Woods!]

Ode to Mal

by Amy Webb, The Lost Giants 

Mal is a lemon slug. 
And like many—if not all—slugs, Mal doesn’t have a voice. 
But like so many ancient woodland indicator species, 
Mal carries a deep, instinctive yearning to exist. 
A right to simply be and a right to be heard. 

Over the past few months, as Mal has grown, I’ve come to know Mal rather well. So let me try to speak for Mal. 

Mal is weary. 
Mal is lonely. 
Mal dreams of a stable home and worries where the next meal will come from. 

Lemon slugs (Malacolimax tenellus) are naturally shy creatures. 
They spend most of the year hidden beneath the leaf litter that carpets ancient forests. So if you happen to see one while wandering the woods, 
It’s a sign—you’re standing in something rare. Something precious. 

But Mal is not your average lemon slug. 
Mal is bold. 
Mal is big. 
And Mal is determined to be seen. 

Mal has joined the Wild Card Ghost Woods campaign, 
And through it, Mal has begun to grasp the strange, fast-moving, human world that surrounds us. 

Timber shortages? World wars? Woodland “management”? 
To Mal, these are alien concepts. 
Mal is just trying to survive. 

Mal can only thrive in very particular places. 
Mal needs moisture. Stillness. Time. 
Deep-rooted trees, thick layers of leaf litter, and ancient logs left to rot in peace. Mal needs ancient woodland—ecosystems centuries in the making. 
And rapidly disappearing. 

Mal is a detritivore—feeding on dead organic matter, 
Returning nutrients to the earth, quietly keeping the forest alive. 
Mal is a recycler. A decomposer. A fungus-lover.
 
And while Mal lives at the bottom of the food chain, that doesn’t mean they’re insignificant. Mal is a vital link—nourishing birds, hedgehogs, frogs, toads, and beetles. In their small, slimy way, Mal holds up the woodland web.
Yes, not your typical beauty, Mal is covered in slime. 
And yes, some of Mal’s cousins have made a name for themselves feasting on your lettuces. 
But to see Mal is to see that we are not outside of nature, pulling its strings—we are woven into its fabric. 
And when we damage the delicate threads that hold it together, we too shall unravel. 

So, like Mal, become enlarged versions of yourselves, 
Be seen, be heard, the time is now, Rewild the Ghost Woods.