The Endless Wood

Dreams fled as he started from his reverie. It was cold and damp, his bedroll left behind. The fragrant foliage made poor bedding, as expected from a token effort to find comfort before collapsing. The forest was immense, dense, and foreboding. Few animals were seen, but they were present. Hoofbeats in the distance and bird calls broke the morning silence from time to time. The sour taste of the berries he had deemed safe last evening caked his mouth; he rinsed with a gulp of stale water from his skin. West he would continue. The forest had to end eventually.