The room is dark and cluttered. There are lots of clothes in the floor, a dresser, a bed, and a bookshelf with lots of well-worn books. The bed is warm, the room slightly colder and chilling after the warmth of the bed. There are a few unremarkable pictures on the walls, which are white (the carpet is brown).
Small conifers guard the edge of the forest, but inside, it is all deciduous. Light penetrates enough to see clearly, but it is nevertheless quite shady. There are various insects buzzing around.
Leaves have fallen over parts of the road, and it goes over rocky areas, narrow in some parts, wide in others. Beneath the leaves, the path is clear and worn, but it feels more like an animal trail than a man-made path -- sort of the natural lie of the land, more than anything man-made. You don't feel like you're walking on the path, just walking through the woods.
A clear, cool natural stream. It flows briskly, but not violently, and you can see the rocks beneath quite clearly. They are smooth and rounded. The water looks very clean.
An old clear Mason jar with no lid, wedged between some rocks. Dirty from disuse, but the dirt is easily washed off.
It's silver and shiny. It looks like a house key.