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You walk for another hour, or what seems like an hour, through the Old Pine Woods. The forest is expansive, endless, and you trek across the same dirt path, past the same old trees, while staring up at the same sky for what seems like hours. Your feet ache, and your mouth is dry. Your left knee has throbbed so long, you stop noticing the pain. You are dirty, tired, and thirsty. You have no idea how long you've walked and only guess that you're almost home.

Up ahead, a large obstruction breaks the natural walkway of the forest—a long brown tubular vessel of some kind. Walking closer, you realize it is a camper, dirty and broken down, sitting on a roadside rest stop pushed back among the trees. The outer walls are dirt-stained, and the windows are boarded from the inside. The bottom is propped on cinderblocks, and leaves and twigs coat the top.