Drum-Styx

A woman walks a well worn path through the forest. A snow begins to fall, and the icy crystals accumulate just enough to crunch beneath her strides. The trees tower above her, crowding against one another, blocking the view within. She lives in the forest. Eats, drinks, finds shelter within it. A winter wind blows through, the boughs of the great trees tremble and dance overhead. She is protected. The path winds forward as she moves, ever forward, a rut carved into the ancient earth. Many have walked it before her, she never strays. Trails branch away from her at random points, into the unknown darkness of the woods. These paths are fainter, and often she wonders how far they could have gotten. Often she wonders what might be found at the ends. She is tempted, as if these trails beckons to her with untold promises. But she is afraid. The way is shrouded. Her path has already cleared by the countless and the trees above, they protect her. Inevitably she will come