The stream vanished into the undergrowth. The seven friends journeyed for days without seeing a single other soul. Nothing human at least. There were bounding, curious jackalopes singing in the dark, and the Tall Man hiding in the pines. At one point India swore he encountered a sasq’et, eight foot tall in its shaggy hide, lumbering off through the forest. He tried to follow, but the sasq’et moved too fast, and India had to stop lest he get lost from the others. Ahead he saw nothing but trees; but maybe, perhaps, heard a lonely roaring, echoing from distant trunks.

Another day saw gargantuan red trees throw back the pines. Hundreds of feet tall, they towered over the travellers. India felt like he stood amongst titans of some prehistoric age. It was mostly flat land now, empty but for its giants. There were no homesteads, no buildings of any kind, no farmland, no walls or fences, no herds of cattle, no bridges, no roads, no paths, no light in the dark except moonlight and starlight and the glow of the campfire. There wasn’t even a hint of civilisation; India never saw so much as a horse trail.