A flagstone path winds through a shaded woodland of trees and bushes and flowers and other such plants and nature. The path winds its way down to a wide creek that burbles and murmurs pleasingly, then follows along it a short ways until it ends at a small, one-room building nestled under the trees, shaded in the heat of day, but lit by myriad star-like lights at night, which hang from the ceiling and drape the walls, and are enough to illuminate the area thoroughly, plenty enough to read by.

The small building itself is made of a wooden roof and three wooden walls, all on smooth dark stone for a floor. The back wall is covered in built-in book cases, half of which are already filled with poetry and plays and literature of all types, the other half of which are bare and need to be filled.

Of the other two walls, one wall is taken up supporting a large, comfortable couch covered in cushions and blankets, as well as a drinks cabinet in a more rustic style, empty of actual drinks but with plenty of room for them, and the final wall has a stone fireplace with a fire that is always going, and keeps the open building surprisingly toasty.

Woodland creatures make noise day or night, birds call and sing, and the place is both peaceful but full of life, the constant noise of the water a low, background accompaniment to any reading or napping. One may venture into the woods quite a ways before being looped back to the entrance, but there is nothing else but pleasant woodland to find, for now.