The rain had lightened into a slow drizzle by the time James and his group made their way through the wreckage of the storm, though the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the land remained as thick as ever. Trees lay toppled and broken, their roots exposed like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. The muddy path was slick beneath their boots, and every gust of wind seemed to carry with it a sense of unease, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
They had managed to get some distance from the cursed inn, but the air was heavy with a lingering darkness. James couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Though the storm had passed, the curse that blanketed Provost was as present as ever. It seeped into the ground, into the trees, and into the minds of those who walked its paths.
"Are we sure this is the right direction?" Pippy asked, her eyes scanning the twisted trees as if expecting something to leap out at them at any moment.
