Tobias ducks into the narrow passage, shoulders brushing stone on both sides. The air grows warmer the further he goes, carrying that pine-smoke scent deeper into the earth, and beneath it something else — wet bark, living moss, something he cannot name. The passage bends once, then opens without warning into a second chamber, larger than the first. Tree roots push through the ceiling in thick ropes, and from several of them hang small clay lanterns, each holding a flame no bigger than his thumbnail. The floor is carpeted in pale moss, soft as a sleeping-mat, and at the centre a ring of smooth river stones has been arranged with deliberate care. Tobias holds very still. One of the lanterns sways, though there is no draught he can feel. Something passed through here only moments ago — and the only other way out of this chamber is back the way he came.