When the Trees Turn Hostile

For the first time since crossing into the In-Realm, Jianna was enveloped in an utter and profound solitude. Her only company was the sturdy steed beneath her, an animal she had whimsically dubbed “Roric” in a fleeting moment of nostalgia for a tale from her own world. The horse, however, offered no conversation. The silence was absolute, unbroken by the familiar cadence of a shared joke, the spark of playful irritation, or even the simple comfort of another voice. There was nothing. Worse still was the gnawing apprehension coiling in her stomach—a dreadful certainty that she had lost her way, that every plodding step of the horse was taking her further from her destination.

I’m lost, the thought struck her, landing with the cold, heavy finality of a stone in her gut. Utterly, hopelessly, and irretrievably lost. A tremor of panic threatened to shatter her composure. If only there was a single familiar soul here. This entire realm was a mystery to her, a vast and alien landscape. And now, the light was beginning to fail. What am I supposed to do?

The very character of the woods around her seemed to shift, the atmosphere growing thick and cloying, heavy with an unspoken warning. Ancient trees formed a suffocating canopy overhead, their branches interlocking with dense undergrowth that crowded the edges of the trail. Though the path remained passable, an undeniable aura of menace radiated from the forest, a sharp, prickling sense of caution. That’s impossible, she chided herself, dismissing the notion as absurd. How can a forest warn you of anything?

Yet the feeling persisted, an unshakable instinct. There were no signs of recent travel—no footprints, no broken twigs. The path itself was but a faint depression in the earth, all but swallowed by a thick carpet of fallen leaves and untamed grasses. It was entirely possible that an age had passed since the last traveler had set foot here.

With a sigh born of pure frustration at her own escalating fears, Jianna pulled Roric to a halt and dismounted. A moment of stillness, a chance to ground herself, felt essential. She looped the reins loosely over the low-hanging limb of a gnarled oak and guided her horse to the overgrown verge. Sliding down the tree’s ancient, rough-barked trunk, she let her body go limp against its solidness. She closed her eyes, willing the world to shrink to the sound of Roric methodically tearing at blades of grass and the mournful tune the wind played through the leaves. In a gesture of pure, thoughtless exhaustion, she began to tap her head softly against the bark.

“Where on earth are you, Asgath?” she murmured, her voice a fragile sigh swallowed by the immense, listening silence of the woods.

The utterance shattered the stillness. Instantly, the disposition of the forest warped, its cautious watchfulness curdling into a palpable and profound malice. It was as if every leaf had become an eye, every branch an ear, all swiveling toward her with a singular, hostile intent. The rustling of the foliage was no longer a whisper but a low growl, a sound as sharp and serrated as the edges the leaves now seemed to possess. Roric sensed the shift as well. He tossed his head, snorting and dancing in place as a wave of primal terror extinguished all interest in grazing.

Jianna scrambled to her feet, her gaze darting frantically from shadow to shadow, trying to pinpoint the source of a threat that felt as if it were closing in from every direction at once. Though she saw nothing but trees and shrubs, the sensation of being observed—of being weighed and measured by some unseen intelligence—was suffocating.

So much for resting, she thought, her fingers fumbling with the knot in the reins. In her haste, she pulled too hard, yanking the entire branch downward. It snapped back with a vicious thwack, striking her hand with punishing force. I either flee back the way I came, or I push on and find Asgath!

Mounting without a block was an awkward scramble, but somehow she managed it. Roric seemed just as desperate to be gone, to escape the naked malevolence of the grove. Yet even as they moved, the horse’s ears swiveled back and forth in agitation, and a chill raised goosebumps along Jianna’s arms. She tried to soothe him with whispered words, but her voice was a thin, reedy thing in the charged air, and the terrified animal paid it no mind. Her own tension was a poison traveling down the reins, and she had to jerk him back sharply more than once to keep him from bolting in a blind stampede.

Her eyes scanned their surroundings, and she felt a grim lack of surprise to see that the foliage lining the path had transformed. What had been harmless greenery was now a hostile tapestry of thorns. As she and Roric pressed onward, grasping briars with razor-sharp claws and nettles that seemed to boil with spite reached out, eager to ensnare them.

The path terminated with an unforeseen abruptness, giving way to a precipitous drop. As Roric skidded to a halt at the very edge, Jianna could not suppress a gasp of astonishment at the sight that unfolded before her.

The landscape plunged into a colossal, bowl-shaped valley. At first glance, the basin floor seemed to be veiled in a vast, dark shadow, one that stretched for miles despite the clear sky above. Spurred by curiosity, Jianna urged her horse forward. It was a mistake. Roric immediately began a careful descent down the steep incline, drawn toward the valley’s heart as if by an unseen current. As they drew nearer, Jianna understood that it was no shadow at all. It was a living, breathing ocean of foliage—a tangled, writhing mass of dark, twisting vines. They ranged in size from the slimmest, no thicker than a scribe’s pencil lead, to immense growths as wide as her horse’s girth, all interwoven with countless finer tendrils. The entire expanse was covered in peculiar, waxy leaves shaped like six-pointed stars. On the side she approached, the vines formed a wall of unnatural smoothness. This barrier came to a sudden end, and as she guided Roric alongside it, she saw a wide, arched opening, more than large enough for them to pass through. The archway formed the mouth of a tunnel that burrowed deep into the verdant mass, its path illuminated by faint light filtering through the dense canopy far above.

Jianna’s anxiety flared. The opening felt too deliberate, more like an invitation into a trap than a natural formation. Just then, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Not far away, a deer was stepping cautiously toward the wall of vines, where it began to nibble delicately at the star-shaped leaves. A wave of relief washed over her, and the tension in her shoulders eased. It felt like an omen, a sign of safety. Dismounting, she led Roric toward the tunnel; the archway was clearly not tall enough to accommodate a rider.