The room is hard, cold and quiet. Dark colors adorn the walls, black with burgundy wall hangings. The furniture is sparse and solid, heavy wood, dark oaks, and simple. A rough chair, and a simple couch line the walls. In the center of the room sits a table, long, and as solid looking as the granite mountains from which is was hewn.

The forest is rich, and full of life. The soft scurrying sounds of small birds and animals hum in the densely pack evergreens. The air is heavy with the sent of approaching winter.

The heavy thick woods line the path as it twists and wanders through the trunks. It's way is often lost, meandering forward, and sideways, seemingly unable to simply cut to it's destination like a knife.

The water boils with the earth's energy, hot near the center where it springs from the mother earth, cooler, comfortable, and less enticing near the far edge.

An army green 1940's style canteen, complete with web belt, and wooden cork.

A simple silver key, obviously worn, and tarnished, it has seen better days. The teeth look to be well used, perhaps belonging to front door of the room I had dissolve around me.