The beautiful woodlands stretch off into the distance in all directions, a small muddy cart-track meandering off towards the rest of civilisation.
A selection of... mostly-human individuals are sitting or crouching by a sparkling stream, flanked with a profusion of bluebells, panning the water for something.
All of them have some slightly non-human features - prominent green veins, or patches of bark, or vines and flowers growing amongst the hair, or thorns jutting awkwardly through the skin. All of them have at least one prominent tattoo, a variation on the theme of a twining thorned branch; some have many more.
A few children running here and there, not tattooed, fetching and carrying and dancing and playing. Some are a little green-veined, some with scabs of bark from inevitable childhood accidents.
Some wooden structures cling to the forest's edge above the brook, haphazard shelters built with love and energy and not very much in the way of skill and patience.
Into this - suddenly, two visitors, amongst the bluebells on the river bank.
Several people notice their arrival and are reacting surprisingly calmly; some simply look up, some are moving to hold back children, one teenage girl took off running immediately, back up to the cluster of buildings, yelling "Visitors! Through a portal!"
A couple of people stop what they're doing immediately and turn to approach them, one man who is taking some kind of leather tool roll off his belt and looking at them carefully like they might be some kind of wounded wild animal, and one woman who is smiling widely and generally trying to put them at ease.
"Welcome to Foundhome, did you come through the Gate? Is there trouble coming?" asks the woman.
"And are you hurt at all?" adds the man.
There are also distinctly a few people who have picked up spears from the undergrowth in a stealthy fashion and are trying to look unthreatening but ready for that to change if necessary.