When spring was in full bloom, Faith and her escort reached the edges of the Forest of the Damned. The Mountain of Perdition loomed over them as they steered their horses through the meadow. The horses neighed, walking more reluctantly, while the guards started whispering.
To the side of the road rose a forest of slender pines and towering old oaks. Stalks and trunks, pitted boulders, worn and weathered and draped in moss, hindered their passage. This had to be an enchanted forest if there ever was one.
Andrew's mare pricked up its ears, sensing something was wrong with the surroundings the way that creatures do and humans have forgotten. Hedged by her fear of the peril that lay beyond, his gaze strayed here and there. "Be on the lookout," he warned the other guards. "We're getting close to the Forest of the Damned. Trespassers normally don't fare well around here."
