They hurry through the the pale, thick air. ![]() They know exactly where they are, they're comfortable in the Lost Woods. The gentle jingling of a Korok's wooden body on the move is the only sign of life. No rustling of a boar or even a squirrel disturbs the fog. ![]() ![]() It's the middle of the day, yet it's dark regardless, impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The air is swirling with mist, coiling around thick trees and stalking any foreign life that dares intrude on the sacred ground.
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