In your head, you'd always had a…well, you suppose you could call it a romantic vision of forests, though strictly in the poetic sense as opposed to dry-humping the nearest elm tree. When people said "forest," your first thoughts had always been of deer, flowers, and pleasant scenery.
This one is the other kind. The only poem this sort of forest could be connected with is the one that the resident serial killer carved into the trees. The trees themselves loom up above, dwarfing your entire party. Beyond their great trunks, all you see is a gray gloom.
"And you're sure this wasn't here yesterday?" Max asks innocently.
"No," Will says, his voice quiet and controlled. "I am very sure that this was not here yesterday."
"You don't have to come in with us," Sonia says, glancing at the Head Boy. "We don't know what's in there, and you can't take as much abuse as we can."
Will shakes his head firmly. "This is my responsibility as well. This is my school, and as the headmaster is currently…" He waves his hands in what you suppose is meant to indicate virulent insanity. "Well, as Head Boy, I should be there."
There's an embarrassed silence at this sentiment. Finally, Sonia nods. "Fair enough."
"Well," says Max, who's been looking at the forest during your conversation, "if we're decided, then maybe someone can work out how to get by these things."
The "things" in question are a line of thorn bushes, though it seems that the gardener in this case believed that it would be better to get rid of the bush and use that space for more thorns. They reach up to an even taller height than Max, forming an enclosure around what seems to be the whole of the forest.
As you watch, the werewolf reaches out a hand, and at the close contact, the thorns draw in together, forming an impenetrable barrier.
"Could be a problem," Sonia admits eventually.
"Not for you, surely," Will protests. "I thought you were immortal."
"We are." Sonia is scrutinizing the thorns, eyes narrowed. "But there still are a few places where I don't particularly want piercings if I can avoid it. Plus," she adds, "one of those things through the heart would really screw me up. You, too, I should think."
Like Sonia, you're looking at the thorns, trying to see a way through.