toastyquil

In a forest, the sun beginning to decline, a man stirred underneath a great tree. He groaned, sitting up. He appeared to be in his late sixties, and he was wearing brown clothes that after a few more uses could be called rags. He took in his surroundings. He saw that the forest showed the spring, with new growth sprouting all over the forest. "Where am I?" He rasped softly. "Better question, who am I?" And it was true, the man could recall nothing. Not his past, not his name, not how he came to be underneath this tree. "Huh?" he whispered. He had looked at the great tree, to see scorch marks, and cuts in the trunk. Only near the base thoug