The elves sit around the fire, their eyes alight as the flames lick upwards, sparks spit and fly, yet their chatter never ceases. They too are scared of the forest. They hum if they are alone for fear their silence would mean they have trespassed.
Nobody wants to trespass in the forest, imprints upon imprints, tales upon tales, folklore built in the dense thickets of the forest. Where lives are lost.
In the end, like the elves, we will victims of the forest too.