A wooden bench, worn, faded, and whose facade had long been stripped bare. Nestled beneath the sprawling arms of a gnarled old oak. The branches, stretching, reaching for the distant sun, hoping to bathe in its warmth. The arms create a patchwork of shade for those who seek the comfort of the wooden seat. As one reclines here, they are treated to the sight of a crystalline lake, whose still, calm waters reflect the serenity of the glade around it. The setting sun paints the backdrop for the scene, hues of Crimson and burnt amber, as the glow drifts behind the gently blowing trees.