All my stories seem to enter the woods at some point, attracted there by their own force of will. The woods are a place to be lost. A place where past and present mean less than they do on a crowded street and where the future seems to come at a slower pace. Time moves differently among the trees, just like it does between the pages. Perhaps there is a connection between the paper and the branches it used to be.
I've currently written my characters into the woods where fate awaits them with a cruel twist. Part of me feels guilty that I know what is about to befall them and not only do I not warn them, I am leading them straight to into the danger and rubbing my hands greedily together in anticipation. Because that's the thing about the woods...good and evil lurk in equal parts among the trees.