"Call me Magda, dear" the old woman reveals a row of yellow, rotting teeth as she smiles at Boudica. She waits for you to pass through, and as the last of you steps through the archway she lifts a gnarled hand and gives a lazy little wave. Behind you, the brambles rustle, and then move. The throned vines slither inward, knitting themselves back together. Within moments, the entrance is gone. The wall of thorns is whole once more, as if it had never parted.
"And how shall I call you?" she asks as she leads you into the dark and gloomy clearing. All around you, gray-skinned men move in silence: hauling water, scraping hides, stirring cauldrons. Each one is identical. Same smooth features, same obsidian eyes. None speak. None look at you.
The woman ignores them, walking on, unhurried, toward the massive hollowed tree at the center of the clearing, gesturing for you to enter. The smell inside is the first thing you notice: sweet, like dried flowers and honeyed herbs… but beneath that, something else. A faint, sour, almost pungent smell. Almost subtle enough to doubt it's there.
"My mother and my daughter are indisposed right now, but we will all meet at dinner. Would you like to rest in the meantime? Your travel has been long, and you look exhausted."
