The woods of tae were, to the untrained eye, a rather ordinary forest. Teeming with life, the woods contained all sorts of creatures, both big and small. My sweet story on the forest floor. Deer would frolic onto any sunny patch that they could find. The occasional giant could be seen waiting through the trees like tall grass, sometimes muttering spells from times past. Even a gentor could be seen flying over the thick canopy, it’s leathery wings flapping against the wind. Yes, it would appear that Tae was another boring old forest, with nothing extraordinary or special about it. Or, so it would seem. You see, beneath the innocent mask of tae held a secret that was both terrifying and intriguing. Every night, when the moon rises over the mountains and shines its pale light on to Tae, the trees begin to move, their roots surfacing from the ground like a worm. They would stroll across the dirt, sometimes for miles, to find another place to nestle their roots within the boundaries of the forest. After these nomadic trees settled themselves, the ground would begin to shake violently, to the point where the very ground would begin to rise and fall. A towering hill, so large it seems immovable, could be nothing but a small creak the very next day. Change was common within tae, and the animals knew that better than anyone. The beasts understood that, when they settled into a warm cave or nest to sleep in, they could very well awaken to find themselves in the branch of a tall tree, or nestled in a ripe fruit bush. But, on this particular day, a rather unlucky white fox had to start his day drowning.