@...Brevity Truta:

In a cold and heartless land where a sad king observes his dominion upon a throne made of oak and horn. There he sees through the ocher lies of his heart and solemnly weeps as the final rose sheds its last breath. And what happened to this once lush land? A land that was flowing rivers of pure silver and gleeful sighs. A land that was once flourishing with Autumn flowers and noble men of power. His dominion that was once so prestigious and revered. And now the mountains are black and old. The fields are desolate with withered skeletons of barnyard holds. The rivers run murky and most dried up long ago. The springtime thaw renews nothing. The summers kill when dying life tries to take hold. The winters leave the land perpetually dead and cold. This forest lies in the land of fruitless souls.

Or the Carpathian mountains. European forests just look cooler than American ones for some reason.