The forest seemed to close in around them as Alaric and Gilbert moved deeper into the heart of the Hollow. The ancient trees, gnarled and twisted, pressed closer with every step, their branches forming an almost impenetrable canopy overhead. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, the ground beneath their feet soft and uneven.
Alaric felt the weight of the forest's magic pressing down on him, a constant, oppressive force that seemed to grow stronger the further they ventured. It was as though the forest itself was alive, watching their every move, waiting for the right moment to strike. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
