A once proud stand of oak and maple trees now stands encumbered, suffocated by a mass of grapevine so thick only the barest amount of sunlight can reach the forest floor below. The vines cover the canopy like a cathedral's arching roof. It filters through in drops and dribbles, giving only enough sustenance for the trees themselves. No underbrush mars the soil here, and the air is frequently still and quiet.
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In the interest of justice...
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At the End of the World