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H20 - Hedge - Deep - Hollow Hills

As the ever-twisting, ever-changing trail continues, the land around its mazy hedge of undergrowth and spiny trees begins to rise and dip its way through peculiarly lovely, lush and grassy hills, the bright greenery a stark contrast to the dreary nature of the path. An alluring contrast. There are roses there, white roses, pink roses, bloody red roses, the depth of their colour directly corresponding to the number of corpses their ambulant vines have managed to ensnare against their roots' crowns. The flowers, of course, produce such a profusion of scent as to quite overwhelm the rot below.

At times, the winding of the footpath goes quite literally through the hills, geode-like hollows presenting a semblance of security echoed in the many small doors set there amidst the grasses, hobs' homes, the owners quite protective of their turf. The trod loops back upon itself shortly thereafter.

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