Wooded hills. It's not quite a forest, but the trek to get there takes them up a short hiking track into a secluded grove.
The earth here is churned up in blobs and trails, but after a little wandering, they find their first alraune.
Imagine something the approximate shape of a pumpkin, only soft and green, ringed by pink flower petals. Out of the top of this, grows the upper half of a nubile girl, soft and inviting, bare breasts and open arms. Her face is a work of art. Literally. Painted in pigmentation onto plant-skin, lacking true eyes, mouth, or nose, not meant to be convincing, just alluring. A half-dozen glistening slits sit prominently on her lower body, arranged in a ring around her circumference, each ready and waiting, at the perfect height and angle for a man to fall face-first into her boobs while he fucks her.
There is a scent in the air. A soothing, calming, welcoming aroma.
The alraune's waist rotates within her lower body, allowing her to face them and reach out in welcome toward Laurent.