The room is warm and stuffy. Sunlight streams into the crowded room and casts shadows between the many things that clutter the floor.
As I walk slowly into the depths, less light is let in. A light breeze rustles against leaves, and a brushing sound is constant. Tall and thickly forested, it is an ominous place.
The path is barely visible. A trace of dirt is all that continues it, as leaves fall continuously, blocking more and more of the worn path.
The creek moves quickly, rushing against rocks and the cold water rushes downstream.
The large container looks as though it once belonged to a water dispenser. The blue ribbed canister is empty.
The large, rusty key looks old and as if it once belonged to a chest.