WolvesTale

The Ancient Guardians

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Part I — Blood of the Guardians

Rain drifted through the black pines in slow silver sheets while Sheriff Daniel Mercer followed Eli Redwater deeper into the woods behind the old cabin. Morning had technically arrived, but the sky remained dark beneath layers of storm clouds hanging low over Blackwater County.

The forest smelled of wet earth and rotting cedar.

And beneath it all...

something older.

Something wrong.

Mercer carried a flashlight despite the daylight because the woods themselves seemed to swallow light now. Fog clung thick between the trunks, moving strangely through the trees in slow currents that reminded him of breathing.

No birds called overhead.

No squirrels moved through branches.

The silence had become complete.

Eli walked several feet ahead carrying an old brass lantern that flickered weakly against the mist. The old medicine man looked exhausted. Not physically tired alone, worn down in a deeper way Mercer could now recognize.

Like someone carrying knowledge too heavy for one lifetime.

“You’ve known about this thing your entire life,” Mercer finally said quietly.

Eli nodded without turning around.

“Yes.”

“You knew it would come back someday.”

Another nod.

“My grandfather always believed the prison would fail again.”

Mercer stepped over a fallen pine branch slick with rainwater.

“And nobody listened.”

The old man gave a humorless smile.

“Would you have?”

Mercer didn’t answer.

Because before Noah Pike died hanging upside down in the trees… before Deputy Wells vanished… before the voices began whispering through Blackwater County, he would have laughed too.

They reached a narrow clearing surrounded by enormous black pines older than the town itself. The moment Mercer stepped inside the circle, a strange pressure settled over him.

Cold.

Heavy.

The fog barely moved here.

Eli stopped beside a massive cedar stump nearly swallowed by moss and roots. Strange symbols had been carved across the surface generations ago. Mercer recognized them immediately from the recordings and crime scenes.

Binding marks.

The old medicine man knelt slowly despite obvious pain in his joints and brushed leaves away from the carvings carefully, almost reverently.

“My family protected places like this for centuries,” Eli whispered.

Mercer crouched beside him.

“These were guardian sites?”

“Yes.”

Eli unwrapped the bundle beneath his arm.

Several black Binding Stones rested inside cloth coverings marked with faded symbols. Even after everything Mercer had seen, the stones still disturbed him. They seemed to absorb light unnaturally.

Dead stars wrapped in stone.

“Our ancestors created circles like this after the first awakening,” Eli explained quietly. “Places where the barrier between worlds could be reinforced.”

Mercer studied the carved stump.

The symbols spiraled inward toward a center hollow burned black with age.

“Ritual sites.”

“Prisons.”

The old man carefully placed one Binding Stone into the center hollow.

Instantly the surrounding carvings began glowing faint red beneath the moss.

Mercer physically stiffened.

The air changed.

The silence pressed harder.

Then came a distant sound somewhere deep beneath the earth.

A low groan.

Like stone shifting underground.

Mercer looked sharply toward Eli.

“You hear that?”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man’s expression never changed.

“The Hollow Place reacts to the stones.”

Mercer slowly stood again while scanning the surrounding woods.

“So your bloodline guarded these places.”

Eli nodded.

“My ancestors became the first guardians after surviving the opening of the breach.”

“The shamans.”

“Yes.”

The old man stared at the glowing carvings.

“The survivors understood the truth long before anyone else. The Hollow One was not an animal. Not a spirit. Not a demon.”

Mercer frowned.

“What was it?”

Eli looked up at him.

“A doorway wearing flesh.”

Wind moved softly through the pines overhead.

Mercer felt cold settle deeper into his chest.

“Our people stopped calling it a creature generations ago,” Eli continued. “Because the Hollow One was only part of the real danger.”

The sheriff remembered the mural underground.

The towering shapes hidden behind the Hollow One inside the Hollow Place.

“You think something worse exists beneath it.”

Eli hesitated.

Then nodded once.

“My grandfather believed the Hollow One escaped from deeper things inside the Hollow Place.”

Mercer stared at him.

“Escaped?”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man slowly stood again.

“That is why the guardians never tried fully opening the breach after the first disaster.”

Fog drifted slowly through the clearing.

Mercer looked toward the ancient trees surrounding them.

“How many guardians were there originally?”

“Hundreds.”

The answer surprised him.

Eli continued quietly.

“Entire bloodlines devoted themselves to containment. Families raised children specifically to inherit the rituals.”

Mercer imagined generations growing up beneath the burden of guarding something buried underground.

“Your family too.”

“Yes.”

Eli’s face darkened.

“My grandfather began teaching me the songs when I was six years old.”

Mercer remembered the old tape recorder.

The distorted chanting.

The screams hidden beneath the Sleeping Song.

“You knew what those recordings were.”

“I feared them.”

The old man looked suddenly ancient beneath the lantern light.

“The guardians lived knowing one mistake could wake the Hollow Place again.”

Thunder rolled distantly overhead.

Mercer glanced toward the sky barely visible through the black pines.

“What happened to the others?”

Eli remained silent for several moments.

Then:

“They died.”

The sheriff looked back toward him carefully.

“All of them?”

“Some vanished during the last sealing. Others abandoned the old ways. A few simply disappeared into the forest.”

The old man’s voice lowered further.

“The Hollow One hunted guardians first.”

Mercer felt another chill.

“Because they understood it.”

“Yes.”

The lantern flickered violently for a moment.

Then Mercer noticed something moving at the edge of the clearing.

Far between the trees.

Tall antlers.

Watching silently from the fog.

Mercer’s hand moved instantly toward his revolver.

Eli grabbed his wrist immediately.

“No.”

“It’s there.”

“I know.”

The Hollow One remained motionless among the pines.

Studying them.

Mercer could barely make out its ember-red eyes beneath drifting mist.

Then the creature tilted its skull-like head slightly.

And dozens of stolen human voices whispered softly through the forest at once.

Not angry.

Not threatening.

Remembering.

Eli stared at it with visible exhaustion.

“It knows the guardians are almost gone,” he whispered.

The Hollow One took one slow step backward into the fog.

Then vanished completely between the trees.

Leaving only silence behind.

And somewhere deep beneath Black Pine Creek—

something answered its departure with a distant scream underground.

Part II — The Prison Without End (Expanded)

Eli led Mercer deeper through the forest until the trees began changing again.

The black pines grew older here.

Larger.

Their trunks twisted unnaturally toward the sky while thick roots rose from the earth like the ribs of buried animals beneath the moss. Fog clung low across the ground, drifting silently between ancient stones half-hidden beneath vines and fallen branches.

Mercer felt the change immediately.

Pressure.

The same crushing pressure he had felt inside the caves beneath Black Pine Creek.

The Hollow Place was close here.

Very close.

They emerged into a circular clearing nearly swallowed by time.

Massive standing stones ringed the area beneath towering pines, each carved with ancient symbols worn smooth by rain and generations of neglect. Some stones had cracked apart completely. Others leaned crookedly beneath thick roots that had slowly consumed them over decades.

Mercer stopped cold.

The clearing felt ancient in a way that disturbed him instinctively.

Not abandoned.

Waiting.

“This was one of the prison circles,” Eli said quietly.

Mercer walked slowly toward the nearest stone.

The carvings matched the symbols found at every scene connected to the Hollow One, spirals, antler-like branches, binding marks carved so deeply into the granite they remained visible despite centuries of erosion.

“How many places like this exist?”

Eli moved toward the center of the clearing carefully.

“Originally?”

He looked around at the ruined stones.

“Dozens.”

Mercer stared.

“You’re serious.”

“The guardians built containment circles throughout the forests after the first sealing.”

The old medicine man rested one weathered hand against a cracked stone.

“These places strengthened the barrier between worlds.”

Thunder rolled softly overhead while rainwater dripped from pine needles high above.

Mercer noticed black stains covering parts of several stones.

Burn marks.

Something violent had happened here.

“You said the Hollow One escaped more than once.”

Eli nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

Mercer frowned.

“So this has happened before. Multiple times.”

The old man looked toward the dark forest surrounding the clearing.

“Every few generations.”

A chill crawled through Mercer’s chest.

“And every time the guardians stopped it?”

“No.”

Eli’s voice lowered carefully.

“They survived it.”

Silence settled over the clearing.

The sheriff walked slowly toward the center where blackened earth formed a perfect circle roughly twenty feet across.

“What happened here?”

The old medicine man stared at the burned ground.

“The last major binding.”

Mercer crouched carefully beside deep claw-like grooves cut through stone itself.

The marks were enormous.

Whatever made them had not been human.

“You were here?”

“No.”

Eli shook his head.

“My grandfather.”

The sheriff looked up.

“He fought it.”

“Yes.”

The old man’s expression tightened painfully.

“He watched the Hollow One tear through three guardian families in one night.”

Wind moved through the pines softly overhead.

Mercer imagined it.

Ancient chants beneath storm clouds. Guardians surrounding the creature with Binding Stones. The Hollow One moving through darkness and blood while stolen voices screamed from inside its chest.

“How did they survive?”

Eli hesitated.

Then answered quietly:

“They trapped themselves with it.”

Mercer slowly stood.

“What?”

“The guardians sealed the prison circle while many remained inside.”

The realization hit hard.

“They sacrificed themselves.”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man’s eyes remained fixed on the burned earth.

“The Sleeping Song weakened the creature long enough for the binding circles to close.”

Mercer looked around the clearing again.

Not ruins.

A mass grave.

The rain intensified slightly overhead while fog drifted silently through the standing stones.

Mercer suddenly noticed additional carvings along the inside edge of the circle.

Names.

Hundreds of them.

Etched into stone across generations.

Guardian bloodlines.

“These are the dead.”

Eli nodded once.

“The families who maintained the prison.”

Mercer ran his flashlight slowly across the names.

Many had dates beside them stretching back nearly three hundred years.

Some entire bloodlines ended on the same day.

“They kept dying for this thing.”

“Yes.”

“And nobody remembers them now.”

The old man gave a tired smile filled with bitterness.

“That was part of the sacrifice.”

Mercer looked toward him carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“The guardians agreed their history should disappear if necessary.”

Thunder cracked distantly beyond the ridge.

“The fewer people remembered the Hollow Place,” Eli whispered, “the less chance someone would seek it out again.”

The sheriff remembered the teenagers playing the tape around the campfire.

Human curiosity.

Human arrogance.

Eventually someone always opened forbidden doors.

“You said the creature can’t truly die.”

Eli nodded.

“The Hollow One exists partly inside the Hollow Place and partly here.”

The old man pointed toward the standing stones.

“These circles anchored it long enough to imprison the physical form it wore.”

“But not destroy the thing underneath.”

“Yes.”

Mercer finally understood why bullets barely mattered.

Why the creature distorted on cameras.

Why bodies twisted impossibly around it.

The Hollow One was not entirely flesh.

It was the breach itself given shape.

“The guardians learned killing the body solved nothing,” Eli continued quietly. “Another form always returned eventually.”

Mercer looked around uneasily.

“So all they could ever do was delay it.”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man’s voice sounded exhausted now.

“That became our curse.”

Rainwater streamed slowly down the carved stones while fog thickened between the trees surrounding the clearing.

Then Mercer noticed something else.

Fresh marks.

New claw grooves cut across one of the outer stones.

Recent.

The sheriff approached carefully.

The granite itself had been shredded.

Whatever made the marks possessed enormous strength.

“He’s been here,” Mercer whispered.

Eli looked toward the damaged stone and closed his eyes briefly.

“Yes.”

Mercer swept the flashlight around the clearing again.

“How long ago?”

The old medicine man touched the fresh grooves carefully.

“Last night.”

Cold settled hard into Mercer’s stomach.

The Hollow One had returned to the prison circles.

Remembering them.

Studying them.

Almost like an animal revisiting old traps.

Then another sound drifted through the clearing.

Soft at first.

Barely audible beneath rainfall.

Singing.

Mercer froze instantly.

The melody sounded distant and distorted.

Ancient voices chanting somewhere deep underground.

The Sleeping Song.

Eli’s face went pale.

“You hear that too?”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man’s hands trembled slightly now.

“That should not be happening.”

The singing continued faintly beneath the earth below them.

Hundreds of voices.

Dead voices.

Still singing beneath Black Pine Creek after all these years.

And somewhere within the fog beyond the standing stones—

something enormous moved between the trees listening to them.

Part III — The Scattered Stones (Expanded)

The rain followed them through the forest all afternoon.

By the time Eli led Mercer to the abandoned guardian outpost, the sky above Blackwater County had turned nearly black again beneath another approaching storm front. Thunder rolled low across the ridges while fog drifted between the pines thick enough to hide entire sections of forest.

The structure itself looked barely standing.

Rotting cedar beams leaned beneath collapsing sections of roof while vines consumed most of the outer walls. Strange carvings covered every remaining support post, nearly identical to the symbols Mercer had seen underground beneath Black Pine Creek.

Binding marks.

Warnings.

The closer Mercer stepped toward the building, the colder the air became.

“This place feels wrong,” he muttered.

Eli nodded quietly.

“It remembers.”

Mercer glanced sharply toward him.

“You keep talking about places remembering things.”

The old medicine man pushed open the warped doorway slowly.

“In the Hollow Place, memory leaves scars.”

Inside, dust covered nearly everything.

A long stone altar stretched through the center of the room blackened by smoke and age. Old shelves lined the walls, though most had collapsed decades ago beneath moisture and rot. Mercer noticed faded tribal drawings covering portions of the ceiling.

Antlers.

Black spirals.

Human figures surrounding circles of glowing stones.

“A guardian station,” Eli whispered.

The sheriff swept his flashlight slowly across the room.

“This is where they kept the Binding Stones?”

“Some of them.”

Eli approached the altar carefully and brushed dirt away from a carved symbol at its center.

Mercer frowned.

“You said the stones were scattered after the guardian line collapsed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The old medicine man remained silent for several moments while rain hammered softly against the ruined roof overhead.

“Fear,” he finally answered.

Mercer leaned against one of the warped support beams.

“Fear of what?”

“The stones themselves.”

Eli opened a hidden compartment beneath the altar and carefully removed several wrapped bundles, old photographs, and faded maps protected beneath oilcloth.

“Our ancestors learned the Binding Stones could imprison the Hollow One,” Eli explained quietly. “But they also understood the stones connected directly to the Hollow Place.”

Mercer remembered how the stones glowed near the creature.

The way the forest itself reacted to them.

“So the guardians thought they were dangerous too.”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man unwrapped one bundle slowly.

Inside rested another black Binding Stone.

The moment air touched it, the room seemed colder.

Mercer physically felt the pressure change.

“How many are there?” he asked.

“Twelve originally.”

The sheriff stared at him.

“Only twelve?”

Eli nodded once.

“The original meteor stone was shattered into twelve major fragments during the first sealing.”

Mercer remembered the cave carvings.

The black object falling from the sky centuries earlier.

“So every stone is part of the same thing.”

“Yes.”

Eli’s face darkened.

“That is why they anchor the Hollow One so effectively.”

Mercer looked toward the maps spread across the altar.

“What happened after the last imprisonment?”

The old medicine man sighed heavily.

“The guardian families began fighting.”

Thunder cracked loudly outside.

Eli continued quietly.

“Some believed the stones should remain together near the prison forever.”

“And others?”

“Others feared another awakening would destroy everything again.”

The old man touched one of the maps.

“So they divided the stones across different bloodlines and sacred sites.”

Mercer immediately understood the problem.

“No one could ever gather them easily again.”

“Yes.”

The bitterness in Eli’s voice became unmistakable now.

“The guardians destroyed themselves trying to prevent future mistakes.”

Rainwater dripped steadily through holes in the roof while fog curled slowly through broken floorboards.

Mercer studied the old maps carefully.

Different locations had been marked across East Texas.

Black Cedar Ridge. Burnt Church Road. Graves County Mine. Cypress Run. Old tribal burial grounds.

“They hid them everywhere.”

“Yes.”

Eli carefully unfolded another yellowed document.

The paper contained names.

Dates.

Missing-person reports.

Mercer felt cold settle deeper into his chest.

“These disappearances…”

The old medicine man nodded slowly.

“Previous awakenings.”

The sheriff stared at him.

“You covered this up.”

“We contained what we could.”

Eli looked exhausted suddenly.

“The Hollow One never fully slept.”

Mercer remembered the fresh claw marks on the prison stones.

The creature had been active for far longer than anyone realized.

“You mean it’s been hunting for decades.”

“Not fully awake,” Eli corrected quietly. “But never truly gone.”

The old man pointed toward several dates circled heavily in black ink.

“Every time a Binding Stone weakened, disappeared, or changed hands… people vanished.”

Mercer’s stomach tightened.

The stones weren’t merely prison keys.

They were anchors holding reality together around the breach.

And over generations, those anchors had slowly disappeared.

“How many are still lost?” Mercer asked.

Eli hesitated.

“Most.”

The answer hung heavily inside the ruined station.

Mercer looked toward the wrapped stone resting on the altar.

“You still know where some are.”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

The sheriff exhaled slowly.

“Not enough.”

Eli didn’t answer.

Because they both already knew that.

Thunder rolled again overhead while darkness deepened outside the shattered windows.

Then Mercer noticed something strange.

The temperature inside the station dropped sharply.

The lantern flame dimmed.

And from somewhere beyond the ruined doorway—

a woman’s voice whispered softly through the rain.

“…Eli…”

The old medicine man froze instantly.

Mercer looked toward him carefully.

The fear on Eli’s face looked raw.

Personal.

The voice came again.

Soft. Broken. Almost crying.

“…please help me…”

Mercer frowned.

“Who is that?”

Eli stared into the darkness beyond the doorway without moving.

“My wife.”

Silence swallowed the room afterward.

The sheriff slowly realized the Hollow One wasn’t merely tormenting Eli with random voices.

It knew him.

Knew his grief.

Knew exactly which wounds still lived inside him after all these years.

The whisper drifted through the rain once more.

Closer now.

“…Eli…”

The old medicine man shut his eyes tightly.

“It remembers everyone we lose,” he whispered.

Then something massive moved silently past the ruined windows outside.

Too large to be human.

Antlers briefly crossed the lightning beyond the trees.

And every Binding Stone inside the station began glowing faint red together.

Part IV — History Repeats (Expanded)

Night settled over Blackwater County like a funeral shroud.

Rain continued tapping softly against Eli Redwater’s cabin windows while the fire burned low inside the stone hearth. Sheriff Daniel Mercer sat at the old wooden table studying maps spread across the surface beneath lantern light.

Ancient guardian circles. Tunnel systems. Binding locations.

All connected beneath Black Pine Creek like veins under skin.

And every line seemed to point toward the same terrible truth.

The Hollow Place was growing.

Eli sat silently across from him, staring into the fire with exhausted eyes. The old medicine man looked hollow now, as though every story he revealed peeled away another layer of strength holding him together.

Mercer finally broke the silence.

“You think this has all happened before.”

Eli nodded once without lifting his eyes from the flames.

“It always begins the same way.”

Thunder rumbled softly beyond the dark woods outside.

The old man reached toward one of the maps and touched several circled locations carefully.

“A weakened seal,” he whispered. “Missing people. Voices calling from the trees.”

Mercer remembered every crime scene.

Noah Pike hanging upside down in the forest. Deputy Wells disappearing after hearing his dead brother’s voice. Families reporting whispers outside windows at night.

The pattern had already begun long before anyone realized it.

“And it ends?” Mercer asked quietly.

Eli looked up slowly.

“With graves.”

The answer settled heavily inside the cabin.

Rainwater streaked down the windows while the forest beyond remained unnaturally still. No wind moved the trees anymore. Even storms seemed quieter near Black Pine Creek now.

The Hollow Place was swallowing sound itself.

Mercer leaned back in his chair.

“You really believe this is another cycle.”

“Yes.”

The old medicine man’s voice carried no uncertainty.

“My grandfather warned me about it my entire life.”

Eli slowly stood and walked toward a shelf near the far wall where old photographs rested beneath dust-covered glass frames.

He picked one up carefully.

Mercer noticed immediately how old the picture was.

Black-and-white. Grainy. Weathered by time.

Several men stood beside a ring of standing stones deep in the woods.

All Native.

All carrying black Binding Stones around their necks.

Guardians.

“My grandfather is here,” Eli said quietly.

Mercer studied the photo carefully.

One of the men stood apart from the others holding an old lantern beneath towering pines. Even in the faded image, exhaustion lined his face.

“He looks terrified.”

Eli nodded.

“He had already survived one awakening.”

The old medicine man handed Mercer another photograph.

This one showed bodies covered beneath sheets beside sheriff vehicles sometime during the 1950s.

Missing hunters.

Mercer immediately noticed antler symbols carved into nearby trees.

“The county covered this up?”

“Yes.”

Eli sat back down slowly.

“The guardians always worked with local law enforcement when possible.”

The sheriff frowned.

“So previous sheriffs knew.”

“Some.”

The old man stared into the fire again.

“Others refused to believe until it was too late.”

Mercer felt another cold realization settle into place.

“How many awakenings have there been?”

Eli hesitated.

“Major ones?”

“Yes.”

“Four before this.”

Mercer stared at him.

“Four.”

The old medicine man nodded once.

“The first destroyed entire tribes. The second nearly wiped out settlements near the river valleys. The third happened during the Civil War when too many deaths weakened the barrier.”

The sheriff listened carefully.

“And the fourth?”

Eli’s expression darkened.

“My grandfather’s time.”

The room fell silent again except for rainfall and crackling firewood.

Mercer slowly realized every major awakening matched periods of enormous suffering.

War. Disease. Mass death. Grief.

The Hollow One fed on pain itself.

“That’s why it’s stronger now,” Mercer muttered.

Eli looked toward him sharply.

“Yes.”

The sheriff rubbed tired hands across his face.

“Blackwater County’s been drowning in fear for weeks.”

“And the Hollow Place feeds on fear.”

Thunder rolled again beyond the cabin.

Eli reached into his satchel and carefully removed one of the Binding Stones. The black surface reflected faint red light from the fire as ancient symbols slowly pulsed beneath its surface.

“When the guardians weakened,” Eli whispered, “the Hollow One began preparing.”

Mercer frowned.

“Preparing how?”

The old man held the stone tightly.

“It started small at first. Voices in the woods. Animals disappearing. Nightmares spreading through families.”

The sheriff remembered the early calls.

People hearing dead relatives outside homes. Children speaking to empty rooms. Hunters refusing to enter certain parts of the forest anymore.

All warning signs.

And nobody understood them.

“The guardians missed the signs before,” Eli continued quietly. “Just like we did.”

Mercer stared at the old man.

“You blame yourself.”

“Yes.”

The answer came instantly.

Eli looked older than ever now.

“My grandfather warned me never to stop watching the forest.”

Rain hammered briefly against the roof overhead.

“But after enough quiet years…” Eli whispered, “even I began believing the prison might finally hold.”

Mercer understood.

Human beings always adapted to peace. Forgotten dangers became legends. Legends became stories. Stories became jokes.

Until the darkness returned.

The old medicine man carefully set the Binding Stone onto the table.

“The Hollow One remembers every cycle,” he said softly.

Mercer looked toward him.

“What do you mean?”

Eli’s eyes reflected firelight.

“It learns from each imprisonment.”

A chill crawled slowly down Mercer’s spine.

“You think it’s smarter now.”

“Yes.”

The old man’s expression tightened with fear.

“Every time it returns, it understands humanity better.”

The sheriff remembered the voices.

The manipulation. The patience. The psychological cruelty.

The Hollow One no longer hunted like an animal.

It hunted like something studying human grief for centuries.

Outside, a heavy branch cracked somewhere near the cabin.

Mercer instinctively reached for his revolver.

Eli did not move.

The old medicine man simply stared toward the dark windows while the fire dimmed lower behind them.

Then came the whisper.

Soft.

Almost affectionate.

“…Eli…”

Mercer froze instantly.

The voice drifted through the woods beyond the cabin using the exact tone of Eli’s dead wife.

“…you promised…”

The old medicine man shut his eyes briefly.

Mercer watched pain move across his face like an old wound reopening.

“It remembers how this story ends,” Eli whispered.

The whisper came again.

Closer.

Followed by another voice.

Deputy Wells.

Then Noah Pike.

Then dozens more.

The stolen dead speaking softly through the storm outside.

Mercer slowly stood and approached the window.

Fog drifted thickly between the black pines surrounding the cabin.

At first he saw nothing.

Then the mist shifted.

Massive antlers stood motionless among the trees.

The Hollow One watched the cabin silently from the darkness.

And behind it—

for just one second—

Mercer saw other shapes moving deep within the fog beneath the forest.

Larger shapes.

Waiting beneath the earth with it.