As we dip under the trees canopy, the very atmosphere lightens. The sky shimmers, violet and marigold hues fill its dome. The trees are different, too; they glow against the sky. Radiant, glistening blue greens and enchanting ambers cover their leaves and bark, and their light cascades onto a small village.

The first dwellings we come to are small and made of some sort of clay. Their doors are arched, and their gardens burst with vegetation. Set apart from them and down the cobbled road is a square surrounded by wooden buildings. As we draw closer, I see people of all sizes, shapes, and skin tones dressed in bright colors walk past. Laced between the tall branches, golden strings of lights illuminate our path. I take a deep breath, and a sweetness caresses my nose. Again, I notice the air. It’s lighter, better. I’d go as far as to say I feel…calm. I grin from ear to ear.

“Welcome to Idizina,” Nuri exclaims, thrusting her hands into the air. “Home to the Idunns. Safe Haven of the forest. Florian’s Secret Place.”

Braizen runs a hand through his curls and smiles up at the sky. “Idunns? Isn’t that your name? Does this village belong to your family?”

Nuri spins and rests her hands on her hips. “Nothing is anyone’s property,” she snaps. “We’re all Idunns when we are here. We belong to each other. And to the forest alone.”

Lorna sends Braizen and Torr a cynical gaze. “Well, I guess that means we’re Idunns now.”

“Not yet,” Nuri winks, skipping off into the distance. Torrent yelps in merriment; Lin is already busy assessing the tree trunks and leaves. I continue to breathe deeply.

A woman bearing a warm, inviting smile approaches me. The deep wrinkles that flow from her eyes only serve to elevate her beauty. Her hair is dark but graying from what I see under her multicolored headscarf. Sandstone eyes flecked with yellow are enhanced by her dress, the pale pink of the mallows blooming in the gardens. She reaches her hands towards me; I find myself taking hold of them. We speak no words. She nods, then leads me back down the path to one of the clay dwellings. I follow without question or worry.

Inside what I presume is her home, I sit on a bright red chair covered in material softer than velvet and shinier than silk. She steps into another room, but I don’t feel fear. I’m mesmerized. Plants of wildly different shapes and sizes grow and hang from pots built into the clay walls. Their trailing vines spill like lush green waterfalls splashing to the stone floor. She carries a tray holding a cream teapot and a matching cup when she returns. Only one.