The forest breaks into a wide clearing that extends in both directions. Someone cut away the shrubs, and the stumps of larger trees poke out of what little vegetation remains. The reason for this lies just across the clearing. A tangle of interwoven brush runs between the trees, forming a rough wall of the cut foliage. You’ve stumbled upon something like a forest fortress. A deep fog rolls in faster and thicker than one would think is natural.
The pines and firs stand—straight gray lines at once solid and apparitional. Mist moves not unlike pipe smoke around the hair of judges, or a pond at the feet of sentinels. The blues and greens of lichen, ferns, and moss are all chilled to the damp colors of sword metal and pearl.