Fern Hollow

The ground falls away here into a deep, damp hollow, so thick with ferns that they brush at the waist and swallow the path completely in places. A tiny stream trickles somewhere beneath them, more often heard than seen, and the banks are crowded with toadstools in colours that don't look entirely safe. Everything is very quiet, the kind of quiet that makes a person want to whisper.

A fallen tree, long since hollowed out by rot and beetles, lies across the bottom of the dip, large enough to crawl inside. The slope climbs back up to the Old Oak Clearing, and through a gap in the trees, the silver gleam of water hints at the lake beyond.