The walls are padded, off white canvas, I think. It's chilly, and there's an institutional smell in the air. There's light coming in under the door, but no handle on this side. I can't see a window, but there's a slight draft coming in from somewhere.
It's dark. I can't see too far ahead of me, but I can make out the trees close to me. They're mostly willows, with a few oaks amongst them. They all seem to be dead, or dying. A thick carpet of leaves covers the ground.
The path is just a slightly worn trail on the dead humus. It's not very wide, and not very well-traveled. It doesn't look like anyone's been through here in quite some time.
It's a stream, murky and clouded. Looks like it's runoff from some larger river, maybe. It's only ankle deep at most.
It's a battered old tin cup, with the handle broken loose on the bottom. I can't tell if there's anything in it.
It's a rusty, iron key. Looks like it'd open a dungeon in an old Hammer film. I can't see anything it'd work on around here.