Frost clings to the roots of ancient trees, and the air tastes of rain long fallen. Paths wind through forests that shift when unlooked at, and rivers murmur in tongues older than the stones they pass. In this land, magic does not announce itself — it waits, patient as winter, until the moment it chooses to rise. Those who travel here will find beauty and peril braided together, and the choices they make will echo far beyond the sound of their own footsteps.
The Scrollkeepers Archive
Chapter 15: The Eldertree Forest
The four boys pressed forward, stepping over the threshold where sunlight gave way to the bright cathedral world of the Eldertree Forest. Oren paused first, head tipped back, breath escaping in a soft whistle as he tried to take in the full height of the nearest tree. Its trunk, pale as milk-stone, was mottled with lichen and age, roots webbed across the forest floor like the knuckles of ancient hands.