12
“I’m not sure if I should feel lucky. . .” I murmured as we rolled along in the carriage.
I had won the contest and the grand prize, a one-way ticket into the realm of Herne the Lord of the Horn. Even the air was different, though we had only traveled a mile or two. There was a thickness about it that stifled me, courtesy of the vast expanse of ancient trees that surrounded us. They couldn’t rival the huge specimens in Anwyn, but they had a majestic all their own. Their thick limbs were heavy with vines and moss as fine as silk that hung to the ground and created hidden worlds beneath those branches. The bright sun above us was soft and-well, controlled. It was neither too warm nor too cold, but the perfect temperature for the hungry trees: humid. I was sweating like a pig and
