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| The will-o'-the-wisp beckons. |
Like our minds at times, shapes drift into and out of
focus. Where did I leave that
letter? I am certain it was hidden in
this chest. The fog swirls around and
around. Perhaps it is just past that
glen.
The Lord of Winter grows in strength and power. We hear tales of Him in the wind as it sighs
and moans around a bend, the trees clicking their bony fingers above in mockery. Enchantment lies ahead. The frozen forest gives its lonely call, and
the will-o’-the-wisp just inside leads unwary travelers to unknown ends. The bread crumbs on the path are now long
forgotten. Beware.
