Cornucopia

As the arena begins to thaw, the Hunter's Lodge seems to stir from its hibernation. Though the windows are still smashed open, and the entryway door now creaks on its hinges, the rays of sunlight that glisten in the clearing are almost enough to mask the eeriness of the place. Now, with clear eyes, you can see that it is just a building. Without the ambiance of the cold and snow, the looming sight of the Fold rising behind it, you could think the Cornucopia where this all began a safe haven. The wood is dry and paint peels on the foundation, but vines have begun to reach for the railings of the staircase. There are wildflowers blooming around the base of the lodge. Songbirds can be heard, their melodies coming from every direction; north to the sound of crashing waves, east to the whistle of a breeze moving through bare branches, west to the earthy smell of pine and the waking calls of wildlife. What was once a lone beacon of safety in a very cruel and desolate place has become something of a crossroads, thrumming with hopefulness. So many paths are available to you. And now that you have learned that this arena should be feared, it reveals to you a beautiful facade.