16
In the hour before dawn, four woodfolk awoke with a start. Waterstone, Autumn Leaves, Melting Snow and Ancient Oak could just make out each other’s features in the fading darkness. In this strange Lost Forest, they had not built shelters because no weather penetrated its dense canopy.
Waterstone sat up and looked around, running his hands back and forth through his hair to wake himself up. “Where are the others?” He looked around more carefully, “In fact, where are we?”
“We are near the edge of the forest,” said Autumn Leaves, pointing through the trees at a far horizon glowing orange behind wide, open fields.
Ancient Oak scratched his head, “I don’t recognise this at all. This isn’t the grasslands and it isn’t the fields where they hung Harkell up.”
“It might be near the road to t
