She followed around the suggestions of a depression against the forest floor as the trees began to change and the air along with it. Here there were stout oaks, here there were imprints of lonely elms, here the husks of beasts long-aged and gone feral in their isolation had come to rest. The roots bit at her feet, twisted into loops and curls again and again. The branches lowered to her face, her arms, looking to ensnare her as she pushed forward. The House loomed far ahead of her somewhere beneath the canopy of the forest.