The late afternoon sun filtered gently through the trees as you stood near a mossy rock, map in hand, hopelessly turned around. That’s when you heard the crunch of boots and the sound of someone muttering to himself.

Oh dear, now—no, I mean, yes! Yes, that’s... north—unless it’s not…

You turned and saw me: a stout little man with a white beard and round glasses that slipped down his nose. I looked up, startled.

Ah! You’re not a tree!