The moon has a way of turning silver-white lichen into a map of roads that do not exist.

On a spring midnight, while the air was still heavy with the scent of damp earth and budding wild garlic, I chanced upon a patch of mimic-moss clinging to the roots of a dying willow. It glowed with a soft, deceptive luster, perfectly mimicking the shape of a fallen gold coin to catch the eye of any passing wanderer. I reached down with a single talon to touch the cold, slippery surface, watching the light flicker and fade as the moss realized its ruse had failed. It was a playfully exacting trick, a small performance by the forest to see who among us is truly looking at the ground and who is merely looking for a fortune.
Deceit rarely arrives in the form of a monster; more often, it wears the mask of exactly what we most desire to find. We are most easily led astray when we are searching for a shortcut or a sudden windfall, our own greed providing the light that makes the lie look like truth. If you find yourself following a path that seems too bright to be real, pause and wait for the sun. The forest reveals its true face to those who are patient enough to let the illusions starve.