A sweet pretty young thing, dark of hair, blue of eye, walks through the woods in her oldest jeans and hoodie. She pauses, lifts her camera, adjusts the lens with liquid wrists, and snaps a photograph, a beam of light slanting through the tall dark pines. Busied with her hobby, she does not shudder at the puddles of shadow at her feet, the rough and unfriendly trees, the roots terracing the path into unfamiliar steps. She only pauses and records them, walks a few steps on, pauses again. She loses herself in her gentle work, eyes wide, lips parted, breathing quietly.
She does not realize that she has lost the path.