Looking around, I began to feel true isolation within this forest. Accompanied only by the limpness in my arm, I rose to my feet. Feeling something on my leg, I felt my pants where I knew the pocket should be. A small bulge in the denim.

Reaching frantically into my pocket I wondered what it could be. Trying to remember as I struggled to remove the item, I realized what it would be just before it was out in the open.

My pocket knife. One that I had always carried with me. However, it was not a regular, boy-scout pocket knife. It was a real knife; one with much wear and tear. Knowing only halves of everything going through my mind, I could feel some sort of importance in the knife without having a locked-on assurance of it.

Looking around again, I saw a scratch on a tree too purposeful to be a mere coincidence. My eyes went from the mark to the knife and back. Ahead, I could see scratch marks on the next few trees.

Pocketing my knife, I began my walk towards where someone, me? wanted me to go.