The Year of Frozen Iron
The moist earth of the Hedge gives way to an ancient and broken cobblestone path, winding its way through the thorns. Thick oak trees cluster together, their twisted branches twining together as though trying to strangle the half light seeping through the canopy.
The path terminates at a sudden clearing in the woods. Skulls rest atop a ragged wooden fence; some from beasts, some humanoid, and even some that are unmistakably human. Their empty sockets stare outward into the Hedge, and several seem to pivot subtlety toward you when you blink or your gaze shifts.
A simple cottage lies nestled within the confines of the fence, and the smoke drifting from the chimney indicates that Ravel is home.