Blackfeather Woods too short, walking the streets, i'm hating my haircut

So this is the place. He halts when Rowan does, skin suddenly crawling, limbs stiff. He almost considers backing out — but he knows he can't. There's a potential for closure here that he never thought he'd get, and possibly even more; a whole new side to life that he'd never known, simply because he'd been too frightened to understand it. He glances to Rowan, reassured by his words, and steps into the clearing. It's immediately obvious that the draping tree at the center dominates this area, oozing a toxic aura into the air around it that drives all else away. Somehow, it draws him closer.
The forest starts to darken around him as he passes under the willow's grasping tendrils, closing in around him. He sucks in a breath. Shadows press tightly all around him, pressure against his back, his chest, his throat, his legs. His heart starts to race —
And then the whispers start. Unintelligible, myriad snippets of soft words, so many and so fast that he can't keep up with them. He hears his name, once, and then it all becomes too much for him. He lets his legs collapse underneath him, thinking of Rowan, hoping he'll keep his promise.
He can't handle this.

Zephyr, you've come...

NO. His head dips slightly, eyes squeezing shut as if that might make a difference. It doesn't; all he sees with his eyes open is darkness anyway.

We have been waiting.

No no no no no no no —