"Not much," Myr admits. "Haven't been here all that long." Though truth be told it had been long enough for him to decide he didn't like the Gallows at all. Some of it was purely psychic, the creeping horror of what had been done to the Circle there never far from his thoughts. The claustrophobic confines of the mage quarters--too small, too crowded if they were filled--don't help. Thinking if it, the breath catches in his throat; he shakes his head to drive the thought out. "But word spread quick about the trees. I thought I'd come experience it while it's still new."

He leans further back against the tree, tipping his head back to feel the sun upon his face. As much as he's unused to this whole "wilderness" idea, it is beautiful, and a far better place to be than the thronging city outside. "I can only imagine," he says, wistfully. "How it must look. Smells wonderful, and I've never heard so many birds in my life.

"I'd love to know the magic that did this." Or not, if he knew what it had really taken to grow the forest. But surely something this perfect and lovely couldn't have come from any sort of evil magic, could it?