I've woken up in a strange room, yet it is familiar somehow. It smells of cooked herbs, mostly basil, cilantro, and parsley. There is a white sort of modern couch. It is made with some sort of fabric, but is covered in a thick plastic, the kind that gets stuck to your skin of a hot day. The room itself, however, is comfortably chilly. Across from the couch, on which I am laying, is a television. It is a a very large plasma; it is turned on to the news. Between the couch and the plasma there is a black coffee table. It, like the couch, is modern. Upon the coffee table is a vase filled with sunflowers. In the entire room, it, along with it's purple vase, are the only things in the entire room that are not red, black, or white. Looking to the right wall of the room, I see a large window leading to a terrace. It is a warm, breezy day outside. The door is slightly open, but a screen keeps out the insects; the opened sliding glass door is the source of the slight chill in the room, and the vibrant red drapes dance in the breeze. To my left is a black and white lamp. It is turned on, depsite the daylight; the light emitted is dim, and it does not significantly effect the lighting in the room. Also to my left is a painting of the zen symbol followed by foreign text in red script. Also on the left wall, but to the right of the painting, is a door. The door is closed. It is black white a white knob; in front of the door is a red mat, which is clean, leading me to believe the door does not lead to the outdoors, but rather another room. Whatever is causing the delicious smell of cooked harbs is on the other side of that door.
Despite wanting to stay in the room, I find myself intrigued by the forest at the end of the trail. Is smells fresh and natural. The lovely scent of pine trees is lightly masked by a new blanket of snow. The pine trees have dark green needles, which seem even darker when contrasted gainst the white snow. It is hard to walk through the forest, however, the pine trees are very close to one another, and the prickling sensation of brushing against the needles is a bit uncomortable. The air itself is so nice; it is chilly, so the cold kisses the skin ever so gently. It is not a biting cold, despite the snow.
The vegetation is dense, and th trees grow very close to one another. It is clear that human activity has not yet destroyed the natural beauty of the forest. The path itself is easy to navigate and fairly clearly marked; it is not winding. Leaving the path is difficult though, because of the amount and size of the pine trees. The path is much like the road less travelled. It is clear that no one has been there since the before the snow fell.
The moving water is a stream. It is roughly four feet wide, and the water within the stream moves fairly slowly. There are many smooth rocks within the stream. The water is very cold, and it hurts to touch. It feels as though it is on the verge of freezing over.
There is a flask on the bank. It is silver and has a black layer over it. The cap is in the shape of a fancy crown. The bottom of the flask states that the flask was made in Italy, and there is some sort of insignia below the words "Made In." The flask is half full and inside it is a golden-brown liquid.
The key is simple. It look like your everday house key. It is gold and small. It has several small scratches on it, indicating it had been used on many occasions.