The scents were pleasant, no doubting that at all. There were colors beyond comprehension, so vividly displayed, blending from leaf to leaf and tree to tree. The figure had walked around, astounded by the discovery of such a wondrous area. He was armed to a certain degree, a heavy silver broadsword and very graceful and masterful looking Spear being all that was visible at least. Now, lost was not quite the word for it, for he had entered the area quite of his own accord, he just had no clue where he was or how he had gotten there. His calm, light brown eyes took in the pleasantries of the wood. The optically pleasing colors seemed to calm him, and it was definately breathtaking, but there seemed to be some kind of giggling around him and said aural fixation left him quite perplexed. Who lives here? thought the man. Little did he know his question would soon be answered. A hearty, cheerful laugh, high in tone and in spirit caught his left ear. The elf turned to see a beautiful, though tiny woman, with flaming red hair. She was a Dryad by appearence, though the elf did not know who or what she really was. "Hello milady," he called to her. "My name is Ancal, do you know exactly where it is we are?"
"Yes..." she replied in the sweetest voice you could imagine, it seemed to have an echo, then she simply vanished, beautiful echoing laughter in her wake. The one called Ancal, looked moderately surprised, as he turned around, white cloak swishing as he looked for her. She was gone.

There was harp and lute sounding music in the air, yet another aural fixation for Ancalë to focus on. Who was that woman though? And how did she do those things? Ancalë would hope to have the answers soon enough. He tried to pinpoint that sweet musical sound, but it seemed to come from every direction, so he just stood there, transfixed, listening as hard as he could. But a haunting vision plagued his mind. What if he wandered these mystical woods forever, or was damned to stand in this one spot, forever looking for a way out? Grimly, he realized that coming here may have been a mistake, but if he had a say in the matter, not a fatal one. For now Ancalë focused on the idea of finding civilization, or people of any friendly demeanor for that matter. The land was like a posion apple for a starving man. The alluring sight of food for the famished, yet it would be better to have starved, for one taste was certain death. A bitter-sweet glass prison of reality and illusion, damned to wander around the beautiful place until death's sweet relief swept over him. But there had to be some way out, he just had no idea where to find it.