We walk out to the forest. The rain has finally stopped, but the trees are dripping. The leaves are still wet and the ground is soaked. The moonlight shines off of the puddles, making it seem almost like the road is filled with silver.
Roland and I take our time, walking out to where the trees are thick and the shadows are dark. The forest here is ancient. It's older than the small town that's here. Older than any road. And the people who used to live here, before any of them, are probably still buried under the roots of the oldest trees.
It's no surprise that a forest like this has a mind of its own.
It probably doesn't appreciate being disturbed in the night by strangers.
Or perhaps I'm just thinking strange things because I've been woken up in the middle of the night and sent out to look for lurking strangers.
Danger, probably. Few would chase us this far out in hiding and not be danger.
