Moss grows on the trunks of trees felled long ago. Small mushrooms poke out of the bark, stretching towards the sky. Sunlight dots the ground, pushing through the canopy of leaves above. Somewhere, a distant stream can be heard tumbling over smooth stones. Leaves flutter to the ground in a slow, disorderly fashion. Their yellow and red hues paint a sunset on the forest floor. Small animals rustle them, disturbing the beauty. All is quiet, all is calm.
Except for the young boy, running into the forest as fast as his short legs will take him. His shirt dampened with sweat, the boy jumps over protruding tree roots and large rocks. His breathing disturbs the still quiet of the forest with every ripping inhale. He leaves debris in his wake; snapped twigs and deep footprints squished into the wet earth. His eyes are widened with fear and desperation. Some animals pause to observe the scared boy; others run in fear of what he's fleeing.
Finally, he stops behind an ancient and towering oak, gasping for air. From his lungs erupt a series of dry coughs, leaving his throat dry and throbbing. Once his breathing is under control, he stops and listens. It is unsure what, exactly, he is listening for. After a few moments of sustained silence, the boy exhales and sinks to the ground. His face is wet with a mix of tears and sweat; they leave streaks of clean in his otherwise dirty face. His dark eyes flutter open and closed with exhaustion. Mud coats his legs up to his knees, just below his shorts. One of his overall straps is torn. He runs his fingers through his sandy hair, which is stuck to his forehead with moisture. Wrapping his arms around his mud-caked legs, the boy buries his face into his knees and rests.
The boy awakens in an unfamiliar place. He believes that he is still in the forest, but perhaps not the same one. He sits up from his bed of leaves and crumpled plants. Upon closer inspection, he discovers that it is the same forest, simply another area. However, what worries him is the uncertainty of how long he'd been asleep. When he'd escaped, the trees were shedding their foliage in preparation of a white winter coat; now, it seemed, they'd skipped that entirely and gone straight into growing new leaves. He also feels that his shorts are a little bit shorter and his shirt is a little bit tighter.
This area of the forest seems, to him, less arbitrarily organized than usual. Mushrooms are seen growing in little rows; there are rocks placed around him that do not jut from the earth, but rather act as part of it, lying flat. With a start, the boy realizes that he'd been sleeping in an almost perfect circle of wide oak trees. Scrambling to his feet, he turns in a circle, scanning the surrounding area. He sees nothing but the faint outline of a house behind several trees to his left. He's been taught not to approach the house of someone he doesn't know, but at this point, he's desperate. As he walks, the boy notices that he feels a bit taller; not much, but enough to notice the difference.
The small house, a cabin, as he realizes, is a bit further than he'd originally thought. After about five minutes of walking, he finally stands at the beginning of a small stone path that leads to the front door. The cabin is made from dark wood. Moss covers the roof and spills over the edges. There are windows, but most of the curtains are closed. There's a small vegetable garden surrounded by short wooden fencing just to the right of the path. The boy recognizes cabbage, strawberry, blueberry, and pumpkin sprouts. There's also mint, basil, lavender, and many other plants that the boy had never seen. He slowly approaches the door. His curiosity and wonder are slowly overcoming his fear. He is aware that he has no idea where he is and that a significant amount of time has passed, but the peace of this small cabin is drawing him in.