>>173503>>173455Posie finds a little trail, mostly likely used by wildlife, judging by the small, split-hooved tracks and the occasional, much bigger and deeper tracks that run along it. It takes her through a relatively thin undergrowth of moss and ferns that covers mud, peat, baren roots, and especially piles of lost brown leaves. Hanging above are innumerable, though not necessarily dense, hanging cypress and willow trees, whose big, drooping branches that vary from retaining most of their leaves to having none at all, appear along like green and brown dresses on so many giants in this humid, open-air ball. Posey occasionally passes little ponds, round in shape with muddy rims, occasionally filed with cut roots, and filled with muddy water and leaves. Elsewhere are mangled trees, sometimes cut in half.
Posey sees some definite signs that ponies have been this way. In one location, a rifle tuck into the ground with a steel helmet placed on top, in the clear sign of a grave marker. In another area, an abandoned tent. In another area, a broken branch with some cloth tied in a bow to it. In another, a set of roots that oddly has bandages wrapped around it.
These lands belong to the living - not to imply that death is out of place here. Posey knows these swamps to be variously inhabited by Chimeras, Hydras (bigger ones), lake and river serpents, Manticores, vicious and gigantic insects, occasional visits by the dragons from further south, and the occasional overflows of civilization. She can hear the sounds of so many birds chirping and singing their songs, the hooting of an owl, and many insects humming. She can see them fly about, and perch around. There are calls of unknown creatures further away, and the howls of what might be wolves. Posey only sees one terrestrial animal - a small cervid, presumably some kind of deer - which darts away when Posey nears it. It's the first animal to be afraid of Posey's presence, rather than indifferent or outright hostile. Even the plants are defiant and make known that
this forest belongs to the living. A tree is not merely covered in leaves in the middle of winter, but is flowering with vibrant, big, blue flowers, dotted with orange spots.
The trail moves near water, bespeckled with so many cypress trees. Posey can tell that these areas are flooded only when the rain comes, based on what undergrowth peaks through. These are dotted by islands that break the little valleys of water. The end of a rifle stands up out of the water, as if propped up by some rock or root just beneath the water's surface. A tree stands out on one little island in a sort of clearing, away from most other trees. It's fairly small, a sapling, looks like it could be a few years old. It has two big branches that move out from the center, a few feet above the ground, though a third, shorter and thicker one is placed behind it, as if in three prongs, like upside down caltrops. The two larger branches stretch out forward and closer to Posey, towards the sky in a kind of Y shape. What is odd is that hanging around these two branches, and wrapped around the back of the tree, is a large, green, military bag that could not be more than some months exposed. The impossible position of the backpack is the clearest sign of magic thus far.