It's cold. The walls are bare and white and rough, and the floor is dark stone. There is a bare light bulb above the one chair in the room, which is green, nubby, and overstuffed, with a pink loosely woven blanket draped one of its arms
There are all kinds of trees, all tall and deciduous. There are no evergreen trees at all, save two lone holly bushes. The growth is quite dense, leaving little room on the forest floor, except for the path. It is gloomy, but not dark, with shadows looming everywhere.
The path is narrow and barely visible. It is not inviting, but is still somehow welcoming, especially since there is no other obvious way through the forest. Its surface is rough, and would hurt if one were bare-footed.
It is a swiftly-moving river, crashing against jagged rocks in its hurry to get where it's going. The water is foamy and gray, and would probably be bright blue if it were a sunny day. This is definitely a natural body of water; no human force could have placed the rocks as they are.
The vessel is fired clay, natural-colored, exactly the perfect size and shape for my hand. It is rough, but the roughness is a pleasant texture.
Whatever it unlocks is unlikely to be in this forest, and is probably lost forever.