He pulled his hand free of it, and the sensation faded towards something that was lesser, but it didn't disappear entirely. Even where he was standing pulled on his mood every so slightly. It required something from him, in order to exist. There was a hole in it that had to take, and take.
The place felt like suffering, or at least the memory of it. It made Oliver wonder whether a battle had occurred there, or some other such tragedy. Or whether it was simply the weight of the years. Centuries of forgotten hope, remembering a light of what was.
"This place used to be so different," Oliver said, certain of what he said. He imagined it in the same light as that which he had experienced in the forest. Hares and deers would have run over here aplenty. Even wild horses could have been seen rushing. The grass would have risen up higher, and herbs would have grown by the stream beds.
