Welcome to the Igelwald, a lush, enchanted forest nestled in the mountains of Germany—and the former home of the gingerbread-house-dwelling witch who caused my brother Hansel and I quite a lot of trouble once upon a time. As you might expect, the Igelwald is thick with familiar trees: oak and elm, spruce and pine, beech and ash—to name but a handful. But growing among these are also trees unclassified by humankind, trees with slick, black bark or silver, serrated leaves. Some trees whisper as you pass. If you venture deeply enough into the landscape, you might even happen upon an astonishing grove of trees from which colorful cuckoo clocks dangle like fruit. These clocks hoot out discordant opinions of the hour, a sound which you might find jarring but will cause no lasting harm to your hearing or soul. Sparkling brooks bubble and meander through the landscape. Their clear appearance and relaxing babbling invite closer inspection, but drinking from them ought to be avoided. There are many fairy folk about who delight in tainting the forest’s waters. A wandering human might slake their thirst for a time but end up bedeviled by a ceaseless longing to drink from the selfsame…