The old cemetery was cloistered in dark, looming trees, some as ancient as the graveyard itself. A place of moss, history, and ghosts.


A thousand years earlier, Krista’s Viking ancestors took their axes to the forests that covered the countryside, leaving Iceland as a modern case study in deforestation. For the past hundred years citizens had poured their energies into a major reforesting effort. So far, they’d managed a gain of half a percent. Outside its cities, Iceland was still a mostly treeless moonscape.


Not here, though. Here it was a different world. 


Krista felt like a child in a Grimms’ fairy tale traipsing through Germany’s Black Forest.