“Have you seen such a particular sight before, Moduri?” An old crow asked his wiser companion, both sitting on their fat behinds upon a gnarled cherry blossom branch that held many centuries between its inner rings. Small timid footsteps beneath trampled its lost pink flowers, a set of tired eyes to the bread-crumb trail slightly hidden by it.
“It’s curious, not many have escaped her thorny clutches and still kept their precious flesh” The other cawed lowly, tipping his blunt beak of silver to a low sun, trying to keep a pair of brass spectacles beyond the tip of unbalance. “The whole forest can smell their blood”.

Hansel scratched at his bare arms; even this low sun aggravated his rough pale skin. His bitten fingernails were weak from no nutrition; the sudden lack of sugar was giving him a torturous migraine while his legs were not used to such great lengths. One thing did make him feel slightly healthier, the much missed feeling of fresh air and wind was a wondrous feeling on his face, and it carried smells of sky-stroking pines, smells of strong scented fruit and vegetables, he even felt the essence of a sloping stream nearby calling to his chapped lips and dry mouth. The cramp of his right leg suddenly brought his fatigued mind back to where he was; a dark forest of monstrous trunks and wailing branches, with the sight of red eyes around every sharp corner. The sun now was only peaking over the whistling woodland, saying good evening to his frosty sister moon.