Past the tree line west of Elmore, Plover Woods opens into grassland — soft old moss underfoot, a mineral cold breathing faintly up from the ground. Mossy keeps a supply camp out here: harnesses, dried feed, paw wraps, training gear, more dried meat than one person and one Bear need before it spoils.
The grass carries flattened circles nobody's ever explained. Past them, the western road is the only marked way down into the caves — follow the birdsong, the story goes, or risk losing the way out.