The pack, once more, is gathering on pack territory, hisil side. The shadow of the park a bit of nature's reclamation among the city's urban sprawl. As if overnight, it looks less than crops of grey shadowy trees, and more alive as a number of tree spirits have moved in and taken residence near the locus. Now the park resembles a small forest in the middle of a block between industry and the mute grey, mostly transparent blocks of buildings. Small water spirits, flick in and out of the edges of vision, almost sprite like; occasionally they return to the locus. Eagerly lapping at the font of essence that bubbles up from the earth and slides through the tear disappearing across the gauntlet.
Crossing through at the locus and stepping out, it is difficult to recognize the place, as the edges of the park are no longer visible. Only the trees can be seen around them.