You slip carefully between the trees, trying to thread your way around the edge of the grove and stay out of sight.
It's harder than you thought to keep to the shadows. The light here is shifting and muted, and you can't quite tell which direction it's coming from.
But you're good at not being seen, and with all the time you've spent in the woods, you're getting good at dealing with that, too. You manage to find a spot where you're pretty sure you're hidden, and settle down for a good old-fashioned stakeout.
No matter where you look, you see that the people here appear genuinely happy. Everyone wears contented smiles; nobody looks anxious or angry or anything but mellow and relaxed.
The guy with the Afro ambles over to an easel and picks up a brush to resume the painting that he's clearly been working on for a while. He's got a comfortable smile on his face, like he's got all the time in the world to sit and look at this painting. Like there's nothing he'd rather be doing than what he's doing right now.
Whatever's going on here, it probably isn't bad.
Or if there is something bad going on, either these people don't know about it, or they aren't the ones doing it.
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