I find myself on a woodland path I know not where. Nor do I know how I got there, but here am I. It be no land I recognize nor do I feel I am at home here. Beautiful as it my be, it’s not my home, and I know not why I am here. Yet I feel I must go on, for to go back to something I do not remember is no solution. As I go on, I meet no one and no animal greets me, only silence without peace, quiet without solace. The miles grow beneath my feet, and I grow weary, hungry and sore. Yet nothing changes, the path goes on and I can only follow. In time (who knows how much) I begin to stumble, to limp and to lose my strength, the way is darker now, more forbidding, but I still go on. At last I take my last step, falling into the leaves and pine needles on the path. I am weak and spent, and I know not how to go on. I cannot sleep, for dreams I wish not to see, but yet I cannot but crawl along the way. Dark, it is so dark, my lungs ache and my legs are numb, so I sit, waiting for the Hunter, for He must be near. I feel a tearing deep in my chest, and all begins to darken, I am dying. Still I find myself on a woodland path I know not where, and I still know not why I am here, nor where I go.
