The satyr grove is trees, shade, and adult men in beast-skin: horns, tail, a goat-leg joke the Municipality files as costume. Same line as Tropics mer men — fantasy skin on an adult male body, never a real animal, never a boy in the trees. They drink. They wrestle poorly. They will not chase you off the path unless you ask to leave the path.
Beast-men
Horns are worn. Tails are worn. The chest and cock are a man's. The grove is the island's answer to a were-pack: classical, visitable, drunk in daylight. Future dens will name a god of the trees. Today the notice is enough — adult, consent, leave loud.
Path
A packed dirt loop. Benches. A herm at the turn that is marble and adult. Visitors walk. Satyrs may sit with you if you sit first. No hunt scene. No "the forest took him."