FAR BELOW THE CANOPY. WHERE BAREST LIGHT PENETRATES THE SHADOWED LABYRINTH OF THE FOREST FLOOR. BENEATH A CARPET OF ROTTING LEAVES. BENEATH OUR FEET, A HIDDEN KINGDOM, ALIVE AND OF DECAY, CONSPIRING WITH THE ROOTS OF ANCIENT TREES. I'M DIGGING FOR FIRE, AND FINDING ONLY ROT. TONIGHT WE DINE WITH MOUSSERON. RAISE YOUR GLASS, RAISE IT HIGH TO MOUSSERON.AND IF AT THE BOTTOM OF EVERYTHING THERE WERE ONLY A WIDE FERMENT, THAT TWISTING IN DARK PASSIONS DREAMT ALONE OF RETURN? FEASTING ON REFUSE AND DECAY, AND SAPROPHYTIC SPLENDOUR, SLEEPS DEEP AND TOMORROW CONSUMES YOUR FLESH. STEP INTO THE FAERY RING, WHERE THE WITCHES DROP THEIR WOES. BREATHE DEEP YOUR LAST, BENEATH A CLOUD OF SPORES, AS MYCORRHIZAE INTO YOUR LUNGS. FOOD FOR BOLETES. FOOD FOR WOOD EARS. FOOD FOR MORELLES. FOOD FOR BORCHII. LET THE CORPSE-FINDERS MARK MY PASSING, I WILL WEAR THEIR CROWN UPON MY GRAVE.