Resin tear

The poem never names it: the game puts it there, because a torch wants something that sticks to wood and burns a long time, and a wood makes that for itself. It serves one purpose, the torch, and that is deliberate: a material good for everything stops telling you where you came from.

Twelve of them fall in the wood, one to three at a time, always against the foot of a trunk. It comes back in the chapter of the walls, out of the thorns in the wood of the suicides, but not from all of them: roughly one broken thorn in three leaves it, and that uncertainty is why down there you break thorns more than once.