you've been wandering the forest for a while, just following the river, kicking stones, taking the occasional sitting break with your feet in the water. this would, under any circumstance, be a perfectly lovely, normal walk for you. if it weren't for the sun's lowering against the trees, the storm clouds rolling in over the horizon, and the fact that you left the track behind... well, maybe two hours ago. possibly a tragic oversight on your part.

a loud 'thwack!' drifts toward you - just across the river, there - a hulking figure of a woman, stubbornly swinging an almighty axe into an even almightier log. she's entirely engrossed, not at all noticing you.

the river is shallow, and quiet, and slow-moving. there's no stopping you from approaching her, even just for directions. with the trees' shade cast upon you, suddenly the early winter cold isn't as easily ignored, and strange, flannel-wearing lumberjanes in the woods feel like less of a threat than sleeping outside.