We stumbled out of the forest, disoriented, into a field that seemed both familiar and alien. It took us some days before we trudged through the closest farm town. The people felt to us as wooden cutouts; flat representations of villagers. We found that our trip of only weeks, interrupted by a short trip to the fey realm, had taken a decade from us. A final parting gift of the forest folk.
This cider is the long slow contemplation of stolen time, and the uncertain future of the returned dead.
Reviewed on 13 Jul 2024
