A forest? Here? The only forests that should be here have to be the ones made from coral, the reefs that line the ocean floor. She follows, largely out of a sense of doubt than anything else.

The little metal-and-glass globe labeled BATHYSPHERE looks cramped and uncomfortable, even if the seats are lined with rich red velvet. She perches on one of them uncertainly as the door groans shut. Her shoulders tense. The sensation of being contained doesn't agree with her. Rather, she doesn't agree with it.

"What kind of forest?" she asks skeptically.