The forest was primordial. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs guarded the darkness, blotting out any sunlight. Their bark was mottled and splotched, as if bubbled soup had been frozen in time on its surface. Clumpy combs of wet moss dangled from their rotten boughs. Underneath the moss, lethal larkspur peppered the mulchy floor. A pungent tang oozed from every sentient being in the forest. Bewailing sounds ghosted through the trees. Whether it was from victim or victor, only the forest could tell. It was truly a place to make every person’s veins freeze over. Everything considered edible in another forest was nauseating here. It left them with the same, sickening taste of a person’s own blood. It was a forest to be avoided.
Indeed, Crimsyn was trembling in fear as she holds upon her
