its been a harrowing week

The forest was silent.

Leaves crackled like thunder beneath his feet. Slowly, he made his way forward, the dagger held at ready, his eyes scanning from side to side. A sudden wind lifted a leaves of the ground, and made the trees moan as more red gold leaves fluttered to the ground.

It was spring in Maine. Hunting season.

Another step forward. On the horizon, he saw a small log cottage on an undulating knoll. The windows were dark, and the overcast sky made the cottage look forbiding. He had an ominous feeling in his stomach, a flutter that could not be erased. But still he strode forward. The vision the child had shown him was coming true.

This was were the Green Jacket dies.