In the heart of the whispering woods, the stars gather beneath autumn's gentle touch. Seek the council where light and shadow brush secrets on the eaves of silence.

To reach them, begin beneath the elder oak whose leaves bear the history of forgotten tomorrows. Walk twenty-three steps due north, following the path of shadows that dance in the light of midmorning fog.

When you hear the wind speaking in tongues old as time, pause. Count the sighs - both audible and those that dwell within the heart of trees. You shall know when to stop, for the whispers are a guide and a riddle combined.

Turning right at the fork that is not a fork, led by your inner cadence straying leftward, traverse the meadow of silver grass where the moon has anchored its forgotten dreams.

In the clearing, the council waits. Make known your intent to ask only questions of which you have already heard the answers before the first light of day.