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You continue down the path towards a garden lush and ripe for the harvest. There you find a woman weeping, pulling up plants by their roots. You find yourself lingering for a long moment, transfixed while the others have moved on. You follow the path to a tranquil vale framed by shimmering falls, inexplicably blanketed by snow.

You hear a far off voice cut through the thin and frozen air. Its echoing call reminds you of something distant and difficult to grasp. A waft of softly fragranced warmth brings wtih it a memory of steeping tea, kicked up from a deep and rarely plumbed recess.

From the corner of your eye you see a spectral hand emerge from the mist ahead of you, and when you glance back in search of the others the empty vale has thawed into spring.

Return To The Peaceful Vale

What will you do?

Take The Hand And Forge On