H02 - Hedge - Looptrod - Gnarlwood
Very little light slips through the tangled branches overhead, gnarled and twisting boughs strangling out each bright trickling of sun or moon toward the dense thicket below. The calls of strangeling beasts and stranger things fly through the prickle-thorns which strive to choke the trod in delicate, persistent echo of the pines above, the steps of foot and paw cushioned by years of fallen, yellowed needles to a sullen silence broken here and there by snaps of twigs or whipping canes between thick-runneled trunks which ooze sharp-scented saps deceptively similar to their mortal counterpart.
Slanting up the slope of the mountain upon which it has been traced, the maze of paths climb their way through the nearer Hedge, mortal world never quite far away. At its lowest point, the trod delves sharply downward, disappearing into the earth amidst a rocky tumble of old stone.