We join our characters, after last week's bloody shenanigans -- the forest (and beyond?) of the druidic Forest Oracle still beset by unseasonal winter and besieged by mad, foreign animals -- mid-repose as they are taking a load off inside the TARDIS-tree of the nymph. The interior is not designed for the habitation of mortals and is utterly spartan, yet strangely comfortable. Everyone lies down on a bed of leaves. Matthonwy the bard tries to explore a little bit, but the nymph is having none of that shit, and after encountering some trippy transformations of three-dimensional space, Matthonwy decides to leave well enough alone, though still demands refreshment, and finds himself unpleasantly assaulted via nose and mouth by a root system that force feeds him moisture, sap, and nutrients, which is horrifying in its own way, but refreshing nonetheless.
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