I'm laying on a pullout sofa bed. Looking over the edge of the bed, the floor is hardwood, but covered in shabby oriental rugs that haven't been kept up in a while. There's a staircase behing me. Light streams in through the multiple windows on each of the walls. It's cold; so cold I can see my breath.
The forest is dense; the closely packed pine and willow trees block out most of the sun's rays, and make me wonder where the hell I am that has pine AND willow trees at this density.
The path seems to be largely unused, but well-maintained. It's about a foot wide, and gravel. The gravel lacks any sort of settling that one might expect if it was well-traveled. The start of the path is barely a foot off the edge of the forest, and the color of the gravel is dark; it would be very hard to see from a hundred yards away.
A narrow creek streams across the end of the path, but a few feet downstream, the water drops of a ledge down to a small pond, which has many other creeks going into it. The creek seems clear enough, though it has some bubbles in it.
It is a globular canteen, presumably made out of aluminum, from the best I can tell. It is dull from lying in the dirt, but wiping it off brings some luster to it. The cap is small, and metal, with a plastic grip at the top. It screws in, and is attached to the bottom of the canteen with a chain.
The key is of a shiny metal. It is one hexagonal shaft, with tiny ridges running along its length on all faces. The head is a fleur-de-lis. I figure it must be a garage door opener.