The friendly, sun-drenched fields soon gave way to a primordial forest. The air grew cold and still. Giant trees woven together by time formed a canopy that blotted out the sun. Every rustle, every snap of a twig, echoed like a warning.
Henjunaha felt the weight of unseen eyes. This was no ordinary forest; it was alive, watching, judging. He faced treacherous rivers that numbed his bones and thorns that tore his skin. He held his breath as a mighty python, a guardian of the old world, blocked his path. But Henjunaha showed no aggression, only deep respect. He bowed and moved slowly around it, and the creature allowed him passage.
He was not a warrior invading this sacred space - he was a supplicant on a sacred mission.