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PUSH ON MOSS
The moss readily clears away, chunks of soil falling away with it. Beyond and upwards are roots, which you grab and pull yourself up through a small opening. The light floods in. Sunlight. You shield your eyes.
Out of the hole you stand uneasily. The ground is soft and unstable, mossy and with puddles. Nothing like the hard cold floor. You are not sure if you like it.
There is a forest. The dark room from which you came seems so far removed now. The trees are in the full spectrum of their life: from seedlings, saplings, to the tall and very old. But all are the same species of tree, each with smooth or polished bark.
The forest is under a quickly progressing sunsent.
Although you cannot see the sun, the source of the light is directly ahead.
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