It wasn't a cave.
The trees; birches and oaks, stood so close together, thick roots intertwined and sturdy branches entangled, to form a hollow path which burrowed on like a tunnel.
The only light came from the full moon, filtering through the canopy in shattered silver beams. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth, rich soil, and the vital, living smell of sap from the towering pines that marked the grove's inner walls.
A perfect, natural amphitheater, a clearing perhaps a hundred paces across. The ground was not grass, but a soft carpet of deep green moss and fallen needles that muffles all sound, creating a hallowed hush.
Dead center of the ceiling of branches and hoods existed a wide oculus, filled to perfection with the breadth of the full moon. Silver light poured into the grove unhindered, natural and pure.
