THIS GROVE STILL GROWS, IT SHALL ONE DAY BE GRAND, BUT NOT THIS DAY. WALK AMOUNG THE SAPLINGS AND VIRGIN SOIL IF YOU WOULD.

Do you feel it? The gnawing inside your ribs? The clawing inside your skull, the beast inside your soul?

Drink up in the beating heart and and pumping blood of the hunt, thumping feet and convulsing lungs. Run. Run. Run.

I fear for the still birth of this site. Sit a spell, mayhaps its cadavar will utter to you. Long may the dead rest.