The room is damp and cool, there is a thick crimson red velvet curtain with mysterious stains, and a large roundish leather chair in the corner. The chair is covered with blankets and a silk pillow leans next to it. The room is carpeted by a dense shag rug of an obscure deep orange hue. There are paintings of nude women with fins and silver scales on the wood paneled walls
The forest is hazy, vines and broad leafed plants cover the forest floor where it isn't covered with needles which have fallen from the giant redwoods that tower hundreds of feet overhead. A thin rain slips between the pines and the birds make subdued noises as the sun peers down through the haze and the trees
The path is narrow and winding, very indistinct in places. It appears to have been made by deer and the occasional stray hiker. It is fairly easy to walk along because much of the undergrowth near the path is slightly more than an arm-length away. The path itself is carpeted in pine needles
There is an icy cold stream rushing swiftly across rocks, moss clinging tenaciously to the sides. It is water from the mountains, crisp and clear from the melting snow cap, so cold that it numbs the feet.
It is an old coffee mug, white glaze, slightly cracked but fully watertight. The glaze is stained from years of coffee, but the mug is clean.
It is an old, old key. So old that I doubt that it opens anything anymore. The key is brass, maybe even bronze. It is slightly corroded by time. The word that comes to mind is skeleton key. It might have opened someone's front door or their gate many years ago.