The muddy byway you are on winds its way through the forest and eventually reaches a damp clearing where the sun struggles to reach the ground through a canopy of forlorn trees. About thirty moldering, thatched cottages sit in this clearing. Local children chase pigs and sheep in play, but they all rush toward you. They take your hands and lead you into the dark village, the clearing around which is watched by hundreds of scarecrows made from bones and branches wound together.
