Leaves formed a reddish-gold carpet on the ground and on the impressive porch at the front of the palace. It was four storied with many balconies styled to be individual in pattern and somehow managing to be a whole, wide windowed doors led from them. Large windows adorned the rest of the bulding to afford a view of the forest from any of its rooms. The result was a dazzling glint in the sun, vines clinging to its sparce walls gave the daunting place a homey, almost rustic look.
Ferik noted the unnatural stillness that now prevailed, not a single leaf rustled in the light breeze he could feel, a breathless pause as they waited to see what he would do. The courtyard about him was beautiful, despite the neglect, arrayed with once shaped fragrant shrubs and colourful, well-arranged flowers splashed amoungst them. The only sore note was found just inside the north gate, two oaks that did not look as if they were. If Ferik had not been adept at recognising trees he would have been at a loss to identify them, they were twisted, as if a deformed childish hand had shaped them and hence deformed them. Stunted, the bulk of them were bulbourous contusions with a leprous looking bark, the branches cruelly twisted and gnarled. They appeared to be the centre of the agonising pain that underlay the forest, rap flowing from them as if from sores.
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