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This year, an itch for wilder horizons pulled you toward untamed paths. Pavilostas Forest emerged in your research—whispers of its twisted pines and hidden marshes clung to hikers’ blogs like old secrets. You stuffed a worn rucksack with compass, rain gear, a knife sharp enough to split silence, and drove until asphalt frayed into gravel, then dirt, then nothing but moss and roots. By sunrise, you stood beneath a canopy so dense it swallowed echoes, boots sinking into earth that felt alive. The air smelled of pine resin and something older. You adjusted your straps, stepped deeper, and let the trees swallow your trail whole.
