No roads, no trace of woodcutters' axes… this forest was old. And by the looks of things, he was highly likely to become "forest prey" for something, once it got dark.

Rod stepped a few paces away from the spot where he'd appeared and looked back at it. No, nothing special. No kindling magic or little glows or… or anything.

Rod sighed. So, Robinson Crusoe, how to keep from walking in circles and getting scurvy?

The trees looked very much the same in all directions. He wished them a naughty word, declaiming it slowly and pleasantly, as he tried hard to think of something, and… chanced upon a thought.

Rivers flow downhill, and eventually to lakes, perhaps the sea, and if he was very lucky, a port or fishing village or something of the sort. And if he was always following a stream, he might zig and zag a lot, but he could hardly walk in circles.

Of course, all the dangerous beasties came to streams to drink, didn't they?

Huh. Dangerous beasties including him.

Not that he could think of anything better to do, even though he stood and tried for a good long time.

So eventually Rod Everlar shrugged, squared his shoulders, peered at the nearest tiny trickle of water under the trees, strode to it, and started following its flow.

He looked back several times, at first trying to keep in his mind what the spot he'd appeared at looked like, in case he needed to find it again. He doubted he could, though, once he'd walked two dozen steps or so.

Then he looked back for another reason: to see if anything was creeping after him.

Always he saw the same thing. Nothing but trees, endless trees.

He'd already descended a surprising amount, though. When he'd been looking down from where he'd first stood in the forest, the land hadn't seemed to slope so much, but… well, it did.