Griesbois

The meadows and light woods that ring Pontaubert and run north toward Vauclerc: firewood and mushrooms, hunting traps and grazing, the ordinary bounty of a tame forest.

Ordinary — mostly. The Grey Wood runs a shade too quiet in places, and the old folk still yield the crooked paths to whatever keeps them. The Fair Folk’s hand lies lighter here than in Chlôme to the north; but it lies here, all the same.