From behind distant hills, the blood-red Moon drips upwards, setting the dark sky ablaze behind it.
The heat of the day finally subsides, and a damp night descends down the forest valleys towards the village. Some are returning home after a hard day’s work, while others are just beginning tasks best performed under the moonlight.
This is the time of shadows. She glides through the trees, always on the border between darkness and moonlight. She doesn’t need any additional illumination, and perhaps this time she could pass with her eyes closed. Along the way, she touches the rough bark of trees that have grown crooked long before her time. For some, these crooked trees are just a curious phenomenon without deeper meaning, but for those who can read them, they are signposts. All leading to one place. Over the old graveyard that hasn’t welcomed new residents or visitors in a long time. Through the muddy pits of shaggy Pigs and the burrows of subterranean inhabitants. The eerie Shadow hovers through the ancient forest toward the source of her power.