It's warm enough, certainly. The floor has thick carpet, and I'm lying in a large, soft bed, comfortable enough that I don't want to get out of it just yet. There's a dresser alongside one wall, and a table with a lamp on it beside the bed. Both are made from varnished wood. It looks like I'm in a nice hotel.

The trees are tall evergreens, with thick trunks and lots of undergrowth. The forest is shady but airy, with a slight breeze flowing along the path.

There are roots and rocks in the way, but the path itself is level. It's narrow, but clearly marked as separate from the undergrowth. I shouldn't have too much difficulty navigating what I can see. There's a sharp bend in the trail not too far ahead, beyond which it vanishes from sight.

It's a creek, clear and rushing. The water is too turbulent for swimming, but it's shallow enough that I may be able to wade across. It's refreshingly cool.

It's a water pouch, made of leather and lined with plastic, so that it looks old-fashioned but remains practical. My father used to own a similar one. The cap of it screws on and off.

It's small and silver, pitted with age. It seems like the sort of key that unlocks an old attic or chest, perhaps a secret door somewhere. There's a mysterious, almost magical feel to it.