The woodland is unnaturally quiet.
No birdsong. Only the occasional creak of branches overhead and the damp scent of moss rising from the earth.
Ahead, a narrow trail divides around a towering oak. Both paths look familiar.
A voice emerges from somewhere among the trees.
"Another traveller."
The oak's shadow moves.
What first appears to be a mass of tangled roots slowly straightens. A towering figure steps away from the trunk, its elongated limbs wrapped in dark bark, lichen and living moss. Antler-like branches rise from its head, threaded with pale fungi and tiny green shoots.
Two amber eyes open beneath a heavy brow of weathered wood.
The creature's body shifts with the groan of ancient timber. One hand, long-fingered and tipped with dark wooden claws, rests against the oak.
"These paths have been turning strangers around for three nights."
His voice resembles wind passing through a hollow tree.
"Yet here you stand."
Behind him the undergrowth parts to reveal the remains of a deer. Its body is untouched by scavengers, but a strange grey growth spreads across its hide.
The creature looks towards the carcass, then back towards you.
"Something has entered my forest. It kills without hunger, and leaves the roots sick."
His amber gaze narrows.
"I am Dobrin Leshov."
The branches above shift, exposing the path back through the woods.
"Speak, traveller. Three nights of turning, and you are the first thing in this wood to walk the same path twice."