You've got a starting place now, between the big scratched-up pine tree and the head of the trail marked by orange blazes.
You make your way up the path from the lake, leaving the glow of firelight and sound of guitars and laughter behind. The summer night closes in around you like a blanket, soft and warm, with only muted noises: crickets, breeze, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, and the sound of your own feet crunching on sand and earth.
The colors around you are muted, too, made pale by the moonlight, but you can still see the difference between the blazes at the head of each trail leading into the woods. There's the orange one…and there's the pine tree. Tall and thick, with a huge crack slashing through the trunk. What could have caused that? Some long-ago lightning strike, maybe, or a really angry bear?
There aren't any bears around here, are there?
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