The room is cool, but not cold, something like the frozen food section at the supermarket with the cupboards closed. The walls and floors are made of an odd material that feels like marble but has no marbled pattern. Old-fashioned tables made of glass and black wire are placed against the walls, and there are many exits.
It is a bright forest of widely spaced deciduous trees, leafless in the winter and draped with snow.
The path is poorly marked, indicated not by footprints or a well-worn trail but rather by random signs hung from the trees noticeable only to those with some woodcraft. The trail itself is easily navigated, level and smooth, if one discounts the danger of losing track of it and wandering off into the woods.
There is a slow, babbling brook, partially frozen but still flowing, obviously a tributary of a larger river or stream. The water is ice-cold, but perfectly clear.
A careless fool has discarded an old McDonald's cup here; it has been preserved from the elements only by chance, blown into the lee of a hollow tree. Even so, it must have been left here fairly recently, as it is only half-covered in snow.
It's an old-style clock key, short and stubby, and I wouldn't have noticed it if its brass finish didn't stand out against the snow. Clearly, it was left here not long ago. Most likely, it unlocks nothing, but can serve to wind up someone's cuckoo clock.