A fresh notch stands out in the etched bark of the oak; an ancient tree. It rises above.
The clearing is run through with its arched roots, the hollows between filled with ferns.
How deep those roots must go...
So deep you sense an energy rising from the base of the world. A soft, distant thrum...
You are weary, but a desire to strike out wells up, washes over you. There are two paths you can go by. One leads up towards the canopy, the other down, into a fold in the land.
What do you do?
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