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The deeper you move through the forest, the better you understand why the locals no longer enter it, and the more credible their insistence that none who enter return.

Mist and fog coil through the bare, reaching branches, their fallen leaves littering the ground, gnarled roots jutting from the earth like angry fingers, and here and there, the silhouettes of animals as large as cats, caught and wrapped in silk between the boughs of trees like garish ornaments.

Has that brave fool from the village met his end here, wrapped up in a tangled web? Or perhaps he's succeeded, leaving nothing but a boot behind, soldiering on to the swamp ahead, where an old witch is rumored to live in the hollow of a once-great tree.

Nothing is certain, but through the thick, cloying mist, something is moving toward you...

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