The weeping tree

Walking cross country in the netherworld was a risky business. Eirlys, before she had left her homeworld, had studied books and scrolls on the subject, but she knew that all she had read barely scratched the surface of what dwelled here. Still, she knew to avoid the frequent marshy bogs that oozed in lowland dips and exuded their noxious mists to cover the Marsh Skitters that lived there. She skirted them carefully, warily; other creatures hid in the mud, even more deadly than the spindly, fanged Skitters. At one point, as she quickly crept past a mudhole, a huge tentacle swept out at her, narrowly missing her legs as it flailed, questing, searching for prey. She hurried away and escaped unharmed. At other times she had to hide in the scrubby grasses as huge beasts lumbered past, or lithe catlike lizards that prowled restlessly among the brush. Each day that passed brought new dangers and little progress toward the line of hills in the distance. Hunger and thirst were not a problem in the spirit world, but cold was. Her soul was constantly chilled in the heatless land, and her hope and confidence slowly seeped away.
At last she came to a trail, little more than a track that curved towards the hills, but it made her going slightly easier and gave her something to concentrate on besides the distant landscape. She trod it gratefully and followed it's undulating path. Atop a small rise she paused, looking down at the scene below. There stood a majestic tree unlike any from her own world or of Zephyr's. Its bark was smooth and golden, its leaves broad and blood red. Its branches lifted high to the dark sky above and moved gently tho there was no wind. As she walked the path towards it, Eirlys felt a great calm settle over her and a sudden weariness. She wanted so much to stop and rest for a while, under the gently waving bows of the beautiful tree. She resisited the urge to stop, needing to make as much progress as she could, and moved on past the tree. As she passed it, and walked further up the path she heard crying and turned to look. There was a small child sitting behind the tree, his back against the trunk, his furred head and arms dishevelled and matted with mud and tears. She paused for a moment, and then, taking pity on the poor soul, returned to crouch before him. The boy looked up at her with huge bulbous eyes and in that instant she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Before she could move an inch, the tree had her, it's limbs whipping down to entangle her arms and legs and lifting her high into the branches. Now she saw the tree as it really was, it's golden bark a rotting putrid mass of writhing maggots that fed on the blood that dripped and ran from its leaves, leaves that were made of the torn fleah of its victims. Eirlys screamed helplessly, gagging on the stench of death that surrounded the tree and its master. The little boy stood up slowly, uncoiling its body and twisting its serpentine self around the tree until its head was level with hers.
'Welcome to the Weeping Tree.' It breathed, it's forked tongue flickering in and out, tasting her fear, it's pale eyes studying her with evil intent.
'Let me go.' Eirlys pleaded, tears streaming down her face. The snake laughed.
'I will let you go when you have fed the tree, when your soul is sent to the void in eternal torment and your flesh has withered to nothing.' It bared its fangs in a grin of pure malice.
'Your pain will be exquisite.' He slid away as the tree's limbs began to pull. Eirlys began to scream anew.