[The woods are thick, and Watson trips over debris more than he'd like to admit. The trees grow close together- the romantic in him wants to describe it as a tender embrace, with the branches entangling into a dense canopy.
The underbrush is unforgiving, and there's no proper path that he can see, but Watson knows this is the route taken by the others on their hunting trips. He's perceptive enough to notice where the thickets have been trampled by the others, and follows in their footsteps.
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and then they both fucking died the end][The woods are thick, and Watson trips over debris more than he'd like to admit. The trees grow close together- the romantic in him wants to describe it as a tender embrace, with the branches entangling into a dense canopy.
The underbrush is unforgiving, and there's no proper path that he can see, but Watson knows this is the route taken by the others on their hunting trips. He's perceptive enough to notice where the thickets have been trampled by the others, and follows in their footsteps.
He glances back.]
Still recognize where we are?