Lochlan was the first to slip through the seam between the human realm and Faery, and as he stood where he had once stood with his mother, he could not reconcile what he saw. The shimmering beams of light that had once warped and bent around low hanging trees was now a sickly gray that twisted around blackened bodies and charred bones of what remained. Gaunt skeletons rooted in barren soil reached skyward like gnarled hands as if they were attempting to latch on to a miracle, whole again. Big trees, bare as gallows, black like silhouettes. They had once appeared like mystical giants, rising like cathedral spires. Now they stood like a wounded army, tired and reticent.