He limped gingerly as he had hurt his leg and his everything else in the journey so far. If something else came at him now, there really wasn’t much he could do about it. He struggled along as the last rays of day gave way to night. He saw light in the distance behind a copse of trees to his right. Moving towards it and pushing past several bushes that most certainly weren’t alive and murderous, for he had checked, you see, he found the source of the light. It was a tree, rather, a treehouse, with a door and windows and what could only be described as some kind of welcome mat. The tree looked ancient, gnarled and wild and foreboding, with large masks hanging about its front like garden charms. Bottles hung from ropes in the branches above it. The human had a friend from Louisiana who told him about the hoodoo practices that occurred in some places. He winced. This was not promising.