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H23 - Hedge - Deep - The Slips

The waters of the fen upslope trickle into a stream, which grows into a river rather more quickly than rivers ought to grow, which cuts into the soil rather less than rivers ought to cut, which is fortunate indeed for those inclined to walk the trods nearby. The hob ferrymen, never out of charity, will set their coracles' changeling burdens down at the bank where water-way returns to earth, slipsome, slimy and, at night, a spectacle of bioluminescent light. Dark trees and thorns await to swallow all who walk between their hemming boughs.

Slow-flowing as it goes, the river is soon out of sight...during the day. The water glows with a silver, moon-pale light the moment darkness kisses the surface, casting spidery, elusive shadows over the trods which twist and twine in its vicinity. Gently glowing slimes in acid greens and golds grow on the stones of the path, beads of blues and violets dangling from trees overhead. Many sneaksy beastlings creep and crawl and flutter through the thorny undergrowth, taking advantage of travelers' slips and falls and the slimes' stealth-hampering light.

In the manner of dreams, the borders of the forest are both vague and sharply defined: one moment, the long and slime-slick path is trapped beneath oppressive sky-devouring boughs, and the next, the sky opens to the giant's stairs.

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