(Nat 1) trees

Navigating for hours, the waif begins to lose steam. She takes a seat on a stump, surveying.

“No, it can’t be. Is that?” the smell of Phycomid hangs in the air, then it reveals itself. The cave, one with Gryph droppings, a promising sign! Without delay she scampers up to rush towards the cave not noticing an inconspicuous hole. It dropped her 78 feet into a cavern where she promptly shattered into a goey fleshy mess.