The room is rather cool. On the walls, there are some large oil paintings; on the floor is a yellowish light brown Oriental carpet, upon which stands a dark brown antique table. The table is surrounded by yellow couches, and the walls of the room are painted very light brown. There is a bookshelf against one of the walls, with many old and valuable books in it.
It is very early in the morning, it is dark, and I barely see the trees around me, although it is slowly getting lighter. There are mostly young spruce-trees, but in the distance I can see some very tall pine-trees. To the right of me, there are also some birches.
The path is an old trail made by wandering moose and deer. It is a stripe of bare rock without moss on it, quite narrow, but without distinguishable edges. It is in constant use by the animals, but they dare not come near me.
The water runs along the bare rock from under the mosses of a patch of swampland in a gully. Molten from the snows still all around in the forest, it is still quite clear. It gathers in a crack of the rock, washing away some of the mold that was left of the leaves that fell in the autumn.
The cup is deep blue, with beautiful Russian-looking gold decorations all around it; it is not over-decorated, though. The gold has been consumed somewhat by the weathers, and algae are growing inside the cup. The edge of the cup is chipped near the ear, but the vessel itself is intact, and water holds in it.
The key is less than two inches long, and of antique shape: it has a trefoil-shaped handle and a simple plate. It is all rusted over. It must have been the key to a traveler's chest.