The Cat Who Knew How to Cry

5. THE PUNISHING CLAW (part 1)

... and a tal sianae shall answer the call of your detestable actions, and you shall fall to the ground in fear, for she is the Punishing Claw of Alasais' wrath. And she shall free the body, gifted graciously by the Goddess, from your vile soul. And shall condemn your soul to eternal torment in Elaan – the abode of all-consuming, everburning light, where Her Merciful Eyes never look down from the skies.

From the sermon of a priest of the Rual Temple of Wrath

... To say that it is a difficult task to find a forest on the map of Naeria which one could traverse freely and without concern for one's safety, in which some nasty surprise of the local flavor isn't licking its proverbial chops in wait of an unsuspecting traveler, is to grossly understate the true order of things. To the east, in Aellenica's woods, the local sentient plants would gladly turn you into fertilizer or, if you're too poisonous for even them, at least try to take out your eye with a twig, trip you with a root, or breathe toxic dust in your face. In those parts, if you don't grow vegetation or form ears, you're not welcome. So, my friends, we're going camping to Aellenica's woods to rent the shell of some giant wandering carrot.

Shi Woods, on the other hand, exhibit such profound admiration for their visitors that every trick in the book is deployed to draw them in: enticing creatures with a magnificent berry field, the perfectly serene surface of a forest lake, or a mushroom meadow. Thus, bewitched by the heady spirit of nature, guests lose their way among the intricate webs of warm springs and channels, blooming with lilies and somaze, drowning up to the neck with wingtips, tulips and bluebells. They roam endlessly along the shores, carpeted with ledum and heather, and festooned with the fringed bows of irises, green needlebooks of sundews and ni-ni stars of deep garnet. And then, while bending to pick some bilberries, they inhale blissfully a chestful of spores of this land's master and guardian – dream moss... And succumb to eternal sleep in its damp embrace. To sum up: arm yourselves with a compass, waterproof footwear, and, above all, air-filtrating spells.

The situation isn't much better in the Enchanted Forest out west, which is so contaminated with magic waste from Lindorg that the local lakes, formerly known as the romantic-sounding "Starlakes," are now referred to as "Crawlers" due to their constant flowing from place to place, "dragging" with them the rivers from their "constellation" (which, incidentally, also flow in utterly unnatural ways.) Any part of the forest that gets flooded by such a lake instantly acquires rather unpleasant properties, depending on the exact nature of the magic that had polluted the water. Expect anything from red-hot seeds poured down your shirt, to branches entwining and torturing you to confess your childhood's greatest fears, to being pinned down by a root and having your back scrubbed with tinder fungus till your spine... Well, let's not get carried away. The point being, the one reliable solution to all such pleasantries is a local guide.

In and of itself, Al Emenayit is a rather peaceable forest; its "filling," on the other hand, leaves much to be desired: the Eale on the one hand, always fussing over the inviolability of their borders, and their neighbor elves driven mostly bananas from proximity to the former on the other. So, again, unless you've got a pocket medic, you are better off giving the loony bin a wide berth.

Niasaedalaan, also known as the Forest of Hands, will first deprive you of your sense of touch, then your sense of smell and the ability to distinguish colors, then your hearing, and, finally, your sight. But that's not the half of it, oh no. The worst part is that the Forest of Hands will easily drain you of all emotion and hunger for life... to the point where you, my dear fellow, won't give a flying fig that its slimy grey alum is gradually swallowing up your apathetic carcass underground.