I seem to have wandered into a trap too small for a bear and too large for a rabbit. Could you help me, or let me know at least that help is on the way? I know it sounds silly, because the smile on my face and the lilt in my voice indicates that we were in the middle of a lighthearted conversation, but I do not remember how I made it into this forest. My head is filled with stories, dizzyingly so, but among them I can only guess at which is my own. The one thing I know, and you can't deny me this, is that someone at this moment is listening.

That gives me hope, because the struggle to escape the claws now biting at my ankle seems to have only transferred the cold of the metal into my spine, where it lives as a shiver. Even that is better company than you are, if I might lash out a bit. Are you the rustle in the leaves masked by that thicket, or perhaps the shadow bending in the wind just beyond that fallen tree teaming with little workers marching off a caterpillar to their lair? Perhaps you sit as my mirror on the other side of this tree that I have leaned my shiver against. Yes, I like to think of that, because you would be keeping an eye out where I cannot.

Perhaps you stay silent because there is a danger in being loud here. I hope that you will forgive my constant talk, in that case. There is a strange feeling I have that if I stop speaking for too long, I might cease to exist at all. In turn, by talking for long enough, a path might be made to walk out these woods whole. Is that what you are waiting for? Is that the joke we were laughing about just moments ago?

I might tell you that the third party here, the shiver between us, has now become a calming chill.

After a short nap, I would like to tell you more about so many things.

1. Patchwork House
2. Louis Arvwah
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