A narrow footpath entering a dense dark wood at dusk, one distant lantern burning
the Geof. ⌖ back to the atlas
Enter · the trial, and you can fail it

The Dark Wood

The door swings open

The Keepers bow. They have never done that for anyone, probably.

“Well folded. Truth doesn’t care who speaks it. Only how you frame the question.
Remember that; you’ll need it twice more tonight.”

“The Moth is expecting you. Mind her. She sheds.”

The floor was a lie.
Most floors are.