The Intersections

He was lost. Trudging through the woods in the blind night for hours, he had emerged into an intersection of several deer runs. The dawn was filtering through the trees, shedding verdant light which mingled with the cool fog of the morning. The scent of mossy undergrowth filtered up his nose as he chewed a strip of rough jerky to breakfast. Considering the paths momentarily, he chose the westbound one which looked the least overgrown. So long as he kept in one direction, he would make it out of this wood eventually. The only question was where he would emerge.