The Wood Between the Worlds
He was standing by the edge of a small pool—not more than ten feet
from side to side—in a wood. The trees grew close together and were
so leafy that he could get no glimpse of the sky. All the light was green
light that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong
sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm. It was the
quietest wood you could possibly imagine. There were no birds, no insects,
no animals, and no wind. You could almost feel the trees growing. The pool
he had just got out of was not the only pool. There were dozens of
others—a pool every few yards as far as his eyes could reach. You
could almost feel the trees drinking the water up with their roots. The
wood was very much alive.
"I don't believe this wood is a world at all. I think it's just a sort of
in-between place."
—C. S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew.
