Shrieking with fervour, the crow flaps its wings: once, twice, then leaps from the branch and vanishes into the fog. The girl stumbles back and the tree branches reach out to her in response, their gnarled fingers mimicking a mother’s tender touch. Using the branches to ready herself, she resumes her trudging pace, each footfall sinking like stones into the soil. As she heads further into the forest, breathy whispers flock to her ears. They murmur of stories weathered old and of lives long forgotten.

Raptly, the trees examine her—from the toes of her muddy boots to the bows in her hair. Perhaps she can hear them? As the trees confer, the fog thickens and sweeps towards the girl, enveloping her body until her figure disappears into its embrace. A distance bird call descends over the forest; then, it is silent.