"Oil... can... by... tree..." The Tin Man's voice creaks like a dying hinge. You spot the oil can. But the forest feels wrong—something watches from the shadows. The Scarecrow shivers. "Maybe we should hurry past..."
## What will you do?
"Oil... can... by... tree..." The Tin Man's voice creaks like a dying hinge. You spot the oil can. But the forest feels wrong—something watches from the shadows. The Scarecrow shivers. "Maybe we should hurry past..."
## What will you do?