The next several days passed as though in a dream.
After his conversation with Zarine and Odeile, Oliver had been shown to his room by a silent Trebbon. He had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping open the moment he set foot inside.
His bed was a squarish block of wood still attached to the walls and floor, obviously a part of the tree itself. Vines and creepers trailed down the rough, bark-encrusted walls, each mottled with bright, luminescent spots that bathed the room in a soft, inviting glow.
His blankets looked like they had been quilted out of moss and lichen. Oliver had expected them to be scratchy and uncomfortable, but putting his hand on them, he had discovered that they were as soft as a cloud. Shaking with amazement, he had climbed into his bed and pulled the blankets over his chin, doubting that he could possibly go to sleep in such a fantastic place.