The room is cozy with many quilts, pillows, and blankets strewn about the floor. The walls are covered with sheets of blue and red tool-like fabric. A large, wooden door with carvings is at one side of the room, and on the other side, a large patio window is open, blowing in the scent of warm, moist dirt. A lone table stands by the door with a porcelain pitcher and dish on top of it.
There forest is cool and dark. There are many tall hardwood trees and saplings. Old leaf litter covers the ground from the last autumn.
The path is one of the few places that saplings aren't growing. It is a narrow, wood-chip trail, that is almost completely covered with fallen leaves.
A stream of water falls from a crack in a large rock, about twenty feet in the air. The clear water sparkles in a rogue beam of light that has found it's way through the thick foliage as it falls into a small pond, were small koi are swimming, before journeying on as a babbling brook.
A small tin cup rests on a flat, grey rock. It is badly battered and disfigured, but still holds water very well.
The round, silver, head shines brightly. The notches and ridges look like an average house key.