Bab 297: Coming back

An ancient forest so old, the trees themselves seem like weathered giants, their gnarled branches reaching towards a sky perpetually filtered by a dense canopy.

Sunlight struggles to penetrate the emerald leaves, dappling the forest floor in a mosaic of light and shadow. The air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and moss, a symphony of buzzing insects the only sound that pierces the serene hush.

A winding path, barely wider than a deer trail, leads deeper into this primeval world. Lush ferns unfurl beneath your feet, their delicate fronds brushing against your ankles. Towering redwoods, their bark like weathered bronze, rise like silent sentinels on either side. Mosses and lichen cling to their ancient trunks, vibrant emeralds against the russet backdrop.