Tract

He'd just recently left Algoma Prairie--name unknown--and found himself in the woods. South was where he was heading. Or maybe west. He had to figure out which was warmer. Autumn was leaving, and in its place winter decided that snow would be a great forcast for the last few days. The trees were thick enough that at least the snow and wind wasn't hitting him full-force, but it was nonetheless chilly and the boy found himself shivering on occasion.

At least it was midday. Bright and sunny to keep the mounting snow on the ground at bay for a little longer. Autumn hadn't yet left and was struggling for control. He was starting to miss spring more and more. To make matters worse, in this uncharted land he kept walking into bushes that scratched at his legs and arms. It was hard to find areas where these bushes were not at, blending so well with other non-conspicuous bushes. It felt like going through a maze, trying to get around them, but even then sometimes he'd find himself in a patch.

The damage wasn't so bad. It stung like hell, but he otherwise had no problem walking. The slightest bit of blood could be seen around his limbs here and there.