A green meadow stretched across the land, wide and deceivingly calm. Trees stood sparse, dwarfed by the towering black thorns that dominated the horizon. From afar, someone might mistake them for a forest until they noticed how the thorns reached upward like twisted spears, blotting out the sky in some directions. They covered everything. No matter which way a person turns their head, the black growths stood waiting.
A narrow river curved along the far side, its stream breaking into a cliffside waterfall. It should have made the scene perfect for camping—peaceful even. But the stillness clung too tightly. No laughter, no crackling fire, not even the whisper of birds overhead. The sky held only a few winged shapes, distant and faint, they weren't even at the top of the area, they avoided it as if they wanted nothing to do with this place.
Wind dragged dust across the meadow in small bursts. It didn't howl. It just moved.
