>>5896764The longer you spend wandering in these celestial woodlands, the more you can feel something amiss. It’s beautiful, and wonderful, but somehow… Off. Every natural ecosystem is different, of course—what is good and normal for the forests to the west of Hawksong’s domain is very different from what is right and proper in the Sylvan Lands, and compared to either of those the status quo of the Goblin Wastes is a desolate expanse. However, each and every one of those is still ALIVE. Even a wasteland or desert, as you know, as a sort of ‘equilibrium’ to it. Each realm of the natural world has a careful balance of organisms operating according to rhythms and patterns that, if somewhat obscure, are intelligible to one who researches them. A major part of Feycraft is recognizing and understanding this but here…
“Can we go deeper?” you ask your attendants.
“Of course,” the one on the right answers.
“You are an honoured guest of the gods,” the other adds.
You can’t help but feel a swell of pride at this, no matter how many times, or in how many variations, you hear it. It’s enough to briefly distract you from your curious feeling of unease. However, as you look beyond the superficial panoply of nature in fullest glory , it returns
“You know,” you say aloud, “fallen trees are actually a very important part of ecosystems on Earth. They provide habitats for small animals, contribute to the movement of life-energy and chemical compounds throughout the food web, and promote growth for all. But here, I don't see any fallen trees or signs of decay."
One of your attendants acknowledges this with a small incline of their head.
“You refer to imperfections in the world below,” he explains.
“Look!” enthuses the other, and points up to the trees above.
You squint, and watch as what looks like some elongated, incredibly-fluffy red-orange squirrel springs weasel-like up a tree, cheeks stuffed with (one assumes) nuts or seed-pods of some sort, and slips swiftly into the interior of one of the great trees. Theya re even larger this deep into the Moonwoods, and on their surface you see what look like burls or rotted-out holes in the bark… Except, as you look more closely, they are not signs of damage but rather natural, living parts of the healthy tree. On impulse, you sue your <Free Movement> to easily ascend the side of the tree (well, okay, you huff and puff and need to rest when you get there, but it’s easier than you could do it in your natural form or on your own world) and find a small family of fearless, curious, and incredibly cute squirrel-weasel-things living in a perfectly cozy, smooth, leaf-lined home.
“Wait,” you mutter to yourself, “is that hole… For food storage?”
“Yes,” speaks one of your attendants, hanging from a branch beside you, so close that you squeak in startlement before composing yourself.