Winding Wood

A change of season is not enough to change a heart, at least not the heart of these woods. The lonesome, limbless trees stretch up into oblivion still, charred bark, scarce vegetation on the ground. The snow is gone, but the ashes remain. Tributes can turn to see a trail of their own footsteps trailing behind them, hoping against hope they're the only tracks they see. The forest may be healing, but it is far from healed. It'll need more blood before it can truly be restored to its previous power. Be wary as you walk among its hallowed stumps and withered leafless tops: you may be safe during the day, but at night there remains a familiar, haunting sound of cackling in the distance.