Stretched, thin cords of mold hung down from above me, root strings corkscrewed upwards around my feet, and through a heavy trudge of moisten fog I alertly stepped by careful step through the gateway of the Blackthorn, my senses buzzing with tight throated anxiety.

The gateway grew long, impossibly long, tunneling for what seemed forever, when at last I could see a dot of light. My pulse quickening I hurried towards it, my feet sloshing along the muddy, damp soil as I neared and neared and could see that the light was escaping from out a small hole in a crusted wall of underearth, and with my breath constricted, labored, I fiercely began to claw away at the dirt, broadening the hole. With each lump of clay removed the light began to pour in, as I dug and clawed faster and faster, the beam growing stronger and the clammy soil…