Murkwood Pineward 2020

Circa 900 A.D. in present-day Norway:

Before me lay a lake, wrapped in dense fog, shimmering blue. I could hardly make out the opposite shore, but I believed I could see a small settlement. Clearly relieved, hoping for a warm place to sleep and a small meal, I continued my arduous journey through the thick forest. I had been wandering in this impenetrable sea of firs and spruces for days, but an end to this journey seemed finally within reach. This forest resembled none I had seen up to that day and would ever see again. Dense, ancient conifers as far as the eye could see. The ground was covered in green moss, and the sun rarely found its way through the thicket. I oriented myself by the barely discernible coastline of the lake and continued my odyssey. I fancied I could already smell the smoking chimneys of the village, so I was on the right path. Many hours after I first caught sight of the settlement from a distance, the forest slowly began to clear. It couldn't be far now; anticipation grew. The smoke in my nose became stronger, and in the distance, I could already make out the edge of the village. After days of torment, I finally left the last tree behind me, and before me lay the village, burned down and abandoned.
Masterpiece.