The 16 circles

Four weary travellers walk along a sandy walkway underneath an arched sandstone bridge. This spanned across an alleyway footpath lined with golden brown irregular stones on either side. They were dying for water and replenishment. It was neither hot nor cold and it wasn't damp or muggy. It was nothing normally described.

Marty, Paula, Armand and Edith eventually were silent as they walked into the seemingly unknown. After walking for lengthy hours, dead giant trees, ten metres high, grew on the other side of each wall and impeded light from whatever the source was. Tree roots wove their way through, and were either embedded within or obstructively arched above, the non-descript dust which singed bare soles. There were a thousand trees for every thousandth step.