Genur.art

The forest is not asleep, only watching. Its limbs stretch upward through a breathless fog that does not move, only thickens. Somewhere beyond the trees, the moon has risen — not whole, but enough to light the spines of the upper branches. Below, in the mulch and the root, darkness reigns unbroken. There is light in the canopy, but no warmth in its touch. The silence here is older than memory. VOID'SGRASP-MK.1, raz'sscenesmith-mk.1