Anyone can join, with a 50-word vignette in the comments. Your vignette does not have to include the prompt term.
The mosses were soft underfoot as we walked on. There was, of course, no trail, but the knights seemed to tell one tree from the next with confidence. Though I could distinguish some, the silvery beech, the ghost-like white birch, I trusted their way.
I had nowhere else to go.
After a moment looking between them, Halley turned and walked toward the window. From inside the tree, the oaks looked sturdy and large, and a trail of beaten earth ran between the trunks. Though the only things on it would not have trampled more leaves into earth; they flew, glowing.
She would less earnest on the trails her grandmother had spoken of. Though she supposed it was pure chance that she hadn't reached the flowers in the same place; they might still have been there.
She shrugged and packed the flower carefully away, the roots dripping dirt through her fingers.