Micah

The trailhead was another 40 minutes up a winding road.

The trees grew thicker the higher we got.

Tall pines pressed in so close they blotted out the sky in places.

We parked, grabbed our packs, and headed in.

The first few hours were honestly great.

Cool air, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the occasional squirt darting across the path.

The larkspurs weren't massive mountains, but they were quiet and remote.

Exactly what we wanted.

By mid-afternoon, we found a small clearing just off the main loop.

There was an old stone fire ring already there in enough flat ground for the tent.

Jonah set up while Mara and I collected wood.

Dinner was simple, instant noodles and a couple of apples.

After we ate, I wandered a bit to find more firewood before it got too dark.

I didn't go far, maybe a few dozen yards.

But when I turned to head back, something was off.

The trail I just walked didn't look the same.

The trees were too tight together, the slope was wrong, and the clearing seemed too close.

I circled a bit, thinking maybe I'd taken a different route, but every direction brought me back faster than it should have.

Like the forest had folded in a little while, I wasn't looking.

I brushed it off.