The sun was starting to dip lower into the sky, it was dusk.

Lamp posts were being lit along the roads by now, and most people had gone inside for the evening, but some people stayed outside to enjoy the cool breeze of the weather. It was peaceful. At least, that was what it seemed like. A boy had been sitting on a tree stump, not too far from the tavern. In his hands were a roughed up bit of paper, and a piece of charcoal fit for writing. He was staring. Staring into the forest. Deep between the trees that blocked out the dusky sunlight. It wasn’t very clear what exactly this kid, who wasn’t even 10 yet, was looking directly at. But he was scribbling things onto that paper. He was drawing things he could faintly see.

The trees were about a hundred feet away from the edge of town. How could he possibly see anything? Did he see anything? And where was this boy’s parents? No child should be left alone at that age.

But that forest was watching him.

Meanwhile, the tavern cleared out just a bit, most of the patrons and workers had gone home for the day. There were few people left other than our little band of adventurers. The bartender on the other end of the tavern was doing the usual, cleaning glasses, wiping beer stains, looking attractive, that sort of thing.