He tried to run, weaving from side to side between the boughs, unheedful of the path he took, only caring for flight. Through the seemingly endless repetition of tree upon tree it occurred to him that he may be travelling in a circle, which made him move all the faster, as if he could outrun himself and cause reality to change. Eventually his body’s limitations slowed him down, causing him to stop. He rested against a tree trunk, gasping for air. He slid slowly down the smooth trunk to rest seated between monumental roots and drawing in aching lungfuls of air. He longed now for a way out of this wood, this nightmare. The panic subsided gradually, and he felt a little foolish at running from mere sounds.
He couldn’t remain in this place, however. The only way he could begin to understand what had happened to him was to keep moving; to find a situation that may provide answers. He continued, walking now, through the trees, unheedful of direction as he couldn’t see the sun, and every direction looked the same anyway. As luck would have it the trees began to thin once more in the direction he’d chosen, and quite suddenly, at the onset of a steep slope. The mass of trunks and roots had hidden the incline till the last moment and lost in thought he was unable to adapt to the change of gradient in time, and he stumbled and found the ground giving way beneath his feet. Rolling, flailing and spinning Marek was precipitated unceremoniously into space.