Hinterlands

We travel into the Hinterlands.
The mist stands like a curtain,
All at once obscuring and enfolding the landscape,
Behind it's translucent veil.
There are monsters in the Hinterlands.
Creatures of pure, animate, Cold,
Which can pass through a man and stop his heart.
Beasts that appear to be more fang and fur, than flesh and bone.
Following the Forest Road we cross the Hinterlands.
These woods are deep and dark,
Ancient trees teaming with life.
Even the giant pines themselves seem to breathe and shift,
Nervous guardians over an uneasy peace.
It is often eerily quiet in the Hinterlands.
The apparent tranquility is a facade,
A carefully crafted lie of peacefulness,
Cunningly concealing the dangerous truth,
Of wildlife and OTHER life biding it's time awaiting prey.
'Ware the clearings in the Hinterwood.
The more crafty and sentient dwellers of the wood,
Make their homes in these open spaces,
And they don't take kindly to outsiders.
If you meet these folk of the Hinterland,
Show them not your teeth in a grin,
For it will be read as aggression,
And you may meet with a swift demise.
A show of the tongue through closed lips,
Like a contented bulldog,
Will express to the natives your passivity and welcoming disposition.
Guard your purse close in the Hinterwood.
For the aboriginal peoples are not the only life in the wood,
Of bipedal motion and opposable thumb.
Small, viscous bands of cut-purses make the forest their home,
And they are just as apt to cut a throat as they are a purse-string.
Time of travel matters not in the Hinterwood,
Day or night it is always dark.
The trees tower so tall as to not allow more than the merest trickle of sunlight,
Moonlight fares no better or worse,
Though entering the woods on a dark moon is never advised.
The wood is but the gateway to the Hinterlands,
Should you make it out their other end
You'll face a barren plain climbing toward mountains,
Peaks white and blue with ice and snow.
A long forbidding journey yet lies ahead.