The third entrance is not immediately recognisable as such. The wooded hollow is unremarkable by day, and difficult to find at all on a dark night. Under the light of a full moon, the pooled water seems to glow from within and the air is charged with a wildness that is difficult to shake. The faerie ring nestled in the shade of an ancient oak seems to sing — each mushroom a different note. With an ear to the ground, the sound dissipates, but to one stalking widdershins around the hollow it slides from angelic chorus to bestial growl to mechanical hum and back again.