What's before me is bound to be better than what's behind.
Making a break with the past was the only way to realize the future you deserve. Your brain races with excitement and ambition as you start to make camp. [+Bile]
You've stopped at a bend in the road a few dozen steps from a small pond. Meadow stretches out on the far side of the road, while just past the pond is the forested edge of the Joined Woods, if your geography is to be trusted. A stream from the woods feeds the pond.
Your ears perk up. There's a bit of noise coming from inside the woods—music, by the cadence of it, on lute and tambourine. When you squint you make out what is either a lick of firelight a quarter-mile through the trees, or a flash of white pain caused from squinting too hard. A camp, perhaps?
Light is fading all around you. Best decide where to go….