A Change in the Weather
Andrew Plotkin
animal NPC changing environment gender-neutral protagonist GUEmap IF Competition 1995 IFComp Game IFComp Winner Included on Activison Masterpieces CD map on Jay Is Games rain slice of life walkthrough weather
Walking away from a picnic, you are suddenly caught in a country storm. You must protect a bridge from being destroyed.
%
Waiting on the shore; sand yields beneath my feet
The water shouts and roars and rushes
And breaks on the rocks, and
Never comes near to where I wait.

[Hit any key.]
You press space
The picnic is going full blast, which is exactly why you've wandered away from it. It's not that you don't like your new companions; it's just that after weeks of spending each day around them, a noisy weekend cook-out isn't the way to relax. Some exploration -- on your own -- is an appealing thought.

None of them noticed you drifting away, anyhow.

Copyright 1995-6 by Andrew Plotkin. Please copy and play freely. (First-time players should type "about".)

The grasses are fragrant under the sunshine of a late, late summer afternoon. A stream chatters by at your feet, and a weathered old wooden bridge stretches across it to the east. Beyond the stream, a scrubby hillside stretches upward.

The shouts of the volleyball players and the boom-box thump are pleasantly far off to the west.
I beg your pardon?
You examine the stream
It's not particularly deep, but it's spectacularly clear. Streaks of green trail along the stones at the stream's bottom, and you see the rare glint of a fish in the sunlight.
You go west
You turn your back on the hill, and consider the distant shapes of your companions. One of them waves hugely to you. You shrug, and begin jogging towards them.
You examine the bridge
A narrow span of weathered wood crosses the stream here. The boards are vaguely warped, and the handrails aren't quite connected each to the next, but it's held this long and you expect it will probably support you.
You examine the sky
The sun is sinking slowly in a clear blue sky. It's the end of a long, long summer afternoon.
You cross the bridge
The bridge creaks as you cross it, and sways a bit.

A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans comfortably against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, shining in the afternoon sunlight; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.
You examine the stream
It's not particularly deep, but it's spectacularly clear. Streaks of green trail along the stones at the stream's bottom, and you see the rare glint of a fish in the sunlight.

The sun is lazily approaching the horizon.
You go to the northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects orange fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.
You take the spade
The broken spade is stuck in the dried mud. The shaft bends slightly; perhaps you can pull it free.
You pull the spade
You get a good grip on what's left of the shaft.

Crack!

The shaft has snapped off right where it joins the blade. The blade is left buried in the mud.

From within some tall grass, you notice a pair of dark eyes. The grass blinks, and then it is a small, orange fox who watches you solemnly.

The fox chases around your feet for a moment. It seems to be watching something you hold.
You throw the stick
The fox cocks its head as you wind up; it tenses to spring, and you hurl the stick far back into the undergrowth. With a yip the fox streaks after it.

A moment later it's back, bushy tail high. It drops its prize at your feet.

The fox chases around the spade shaft for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
Pet fox
Without seeming to move, the fox is out of your way.

The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
You look at the sky
A few bands of cloud are visible on the western horizon, lit by the reddening sun.

The fox darts at something in the undergrowth.
You take the stick
Taken.

The fox vanishes.
You get the blade
The spade blade is stuck in the dried mud.
You dig mud
The mud is dry and quite hard.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the sunlight, sweeping to the ribbons of color on the horizon. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop.

The fox appears from behind the boulder.
You look at boulder
It's a roundish lump of rock -- about what you thought. Maybe two or two-and-a-half feet across.

In the shadow behind the boulder, you notice an edge of deeper blackness. It's a cave of some sort.

The western horizon has become a surging sea of gold and scarlet waves. The light is magical -- a cool bronze radiance that somehow makes the grass and foliage more intensely green than ever.

The fox chases its tail furiously for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
You examine the cave
You can only see a few inches of dark emptiness behind the boulder.

The fox chases around your feet for a moment. It seems to be watching something you hold.
You enter the cave
There are only a few inches of space between the boulder and the cave mouth. You can't possibly squeeze through.
Pry boulder
You grasp the boulder as best you can and heave -- fruitlessly. It's well sunk into the ground.

The moment is gone. The sun has set, although the clouds are still well-lit.

The fox vanishes.
You pry the boulder with the stick
The shaft is too thick to wedge under the boulder.
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Stuck in the mud near it is a spade blade.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.
Go west
The ground drops off, dangerously steeply, in that direction.
Look around
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the last light. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop. The mouth of a small cave is just visible behind it.

The fox appears from behind the boulder.
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Stuck in the mud near it is a spade blade.
Describe the surroundings
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of dimming meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with dark streams. In the distance, a lake glows pale in the last light of the sky.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Stuck in the mud near it is a spade blade.

The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.
Go north
The hillside drops straight down in that direction.
You go to the west
The hillside drops straight off to the stream in that direction.
You go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop. The mouth of a small cave is just visible behind it.
You examine the trench
The trench is a foot deep or so, and maybe a yard wide. It starts where the wide trail turns, and leads west over the bank.
You dig the cave
You won't get far without something to dig with.

The fox chases around your feet for a moment. It seems to be watching something you hold.
You look at spade
At this point, it's just a two-foot-long stick, broken at both ends.

The fox chases its tail furiously for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
You throw the stick into the cave
That can't contain things.

The fox has slipped away.
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of dim meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with dark streams. A layer of mist is rolling across the landscape.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Stuck in the mud near it is a spade blade.

The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.
Go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Mist hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and clouds beyond sweep away into the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path. You could probably use it to get across. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little nicer.)

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.

The fox blinks.
You climb tree
The trunk is smooth and the lowest branch is at least twenty feet in the air.
You look at the bush
You see nothing special about the bush.

The fox has slipped away.
You search the bush
You find nothing of interest.

Runoff water is trickling down the hill, concentrated here by some twist of geography. It puddles on the ledge, then begins pouring down the path to the northwest.
You go south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, to the misty meadows below.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.

The fox appears under a nearby bush.
You open the door
It seems to be locked.

It's dark and it's raining.
You examine the lock
The shed is weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed. The lock looks badly rusted.

The fox has slipped away.
You hit the lock
It may be weathered, but it's not weakened. You can't even shake it.
You examine the shed
The shed is weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed. The lock looks badly rusted.

You are getting tired.
You go north
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.
Drink water
There's nothing suitable to drink here.

It's dark and it's raining. Hard.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.
You go northwest
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A dark expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Stuck in the mud near it is a spade blade.
You take the spade
(the spade blade)
The spade blade slides free of the mud.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop. The mouth of a small cave is just visible behind it.

You are getting tired.
Pry boulder
You grasp the boulder as best you can and heave -- fruitlessly. It's well sunk into the ground.
Wedge spade under boulder
Which do you mean, the spade blade or the broken spade shaft?
Blade
The blade is thin enough to work under the boulder, but it's too short to give you any leverage.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.

The fox glances at you, or perhaps something you hold.
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A dark expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

You are very tired.
Go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The fox appears under a nearby bush.
Go south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.

You are very tired.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.

The fox glances at you, or perhaps something you hold.
Sleep
Sleeping out in the rain will be miserable, but you're tired enough to do it. You curl up in the mud and grimly close your eyes...

[Hit any key.]
Stone hangs around you, unyielding grey veils in a dim grey light. The light comes from far away: a knife-thin crack, a cold breath, and something roaring its anger beyond. The noise stretches and stretches, leaving you gasping for air, and then an eye opens into the heart of soundless fury --

You awaken, soaked and feverish, bathed in the listless light of an overcast dawn. It takes some time to drag yourself down the hill -- and then you find that the bridge has been washed out by the storm. By the time you flounder across it, your pneumonia is well set in.
Look around
You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.
You throw the stick
You wind up and hurl the stick into the undergrowth. The fox turn to watch it fly, and then looks back at you. Its expression is quite clear: if you want the stick lost in cold, dripping-wet vegetation, that's entirely a matter between you and the stick.

You are very tired.
Go southwest
You have barely left sight of the shed when the trail ends. It looks like it was washed out; and the scree that covers the hill face is much too unstable to venture across. You have no choice but to return.

You can remain awake no longer. Sleeping out in the rain will be miserable, but you're tired enough to do it. You curl up in the mud and grimly close your eyes...

[Hit any key.]
Stone hangs around you, unyielding grey veils in a dim grey light. The light comes from far away: a knife-thin crack, a cold breath, and something roaring its anger beyond. The noise stretches and stretches, leaving you gasping for air, and then an eye opens into the heart of soundless fury --

You awaken, soaked and feverish, bathed in the listless light of an overcast dawn. It takes some time to drag yourself down the hill -- and then you find that the bridge has been washed out by the storm. By the time you flounder across it, your pneumonia is well set in.
Go east
The bridge creaks as you cross it, and sways a bit.

A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans comfortably against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, shining in the afternoon sunlight; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.
Drink water
You taste the water. It's cool -- with not the antiseptic bite of city tap water, but an indefinable vitality.
Go northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects white fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.
Go north
The hillside drops straight down in that direction.
You go to the west
The hillside drops straight off to the stream in that direction.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the sunlight. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop.
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.

From within some tall grass, you notice a pair of dark eyes. The grass blinks, and then it is a small, orange fox who watches you solemnly.

The fox chases its tail furiously for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
You go to the south-east
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Greenery hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and sky beyond sweep away endlessly to the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path. You could probably use it to get across. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little nicer.)

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The sun is lazily approaching the horizon.
You go to the northwest
A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.
You go to the south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of bushes and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, to the meadows below; you can see a lake far to the west.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.
Go west
The undergrowth is too dense in that direction.
Go southwest
You have barely left sight of the shed when the trail ends. It looks like it was washed out; and the scree that covers the hill face is much too unstable to venture across. You have no choice but to return.
Go north
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Greenery hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and sky beyond sweep away endlessly to the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

You catch a pair of dark eyes in the edge of your vision; then they are gone.
Go southwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Elsewhere in the park, flowers lie in hollows and peek out from under the brush. Here you have found a profusion of them. Sprays of white and blue lie everywhere; the vines ripple yellow.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.

A glint in a nearby bush looks more metallic than floral.
You look at the glint
It's a battered old tin bucket.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.

The fox chases its tail furiously for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
You take the bucket
Taken.

The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
Go north
A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans comfortably against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, shining in the afternoon sunlight; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.

You catch a pair of dark eyes in the edge of your vision; then they are gone.
You go to the north-east
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter ruby in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects red fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.
You fill the bucket
You fill the bucket with water.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.

The fox darts at something in the undergrowth.
Go northwest
The stream is that way. You're interested in exploring, not getting yourself soaked and miserable.
You pour the water on the spade
You splash the water around the spade. The mud absorbs it greedily.
You take the spade
The broken spade slides free of the mud.
Go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Greenery hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and sky beyond sweep away to the clouds in the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The western horizon has become a surging sea of gold and scarlet waves. The light is magical -- a cool bronze radiance that somehow makes the grass and foliage more intensely green than ever.
You examine the spade
It's a small spade; at least, the blade and about two feet of the shaft of one.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the sunlight, sweeping to the ribbons of color on the horizon. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop.

The western horizon has become a surging sea of gold and scarlet waves. The light is magical -- a cool bronze radiance that somehow makes the grass and foliage more intensely green than ever.
Wedge blade under boulder
You notice a cave of some sort behind the boulder. (Who would have guessed?)

You push the spade under the boulder, kick the blade to settle it, and lean on the shaft. Nothing happens for a moment, and you're leaning harder, and the boulder starts to move, and

Crack!

The spade's shaft has broken off in your hands, right above the blade, which is now caught under the boulder. On the other hand, you've moved the boulder up out of its hole; it's balanced on the rim.
You enter the cave
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a circle of blinding crimson to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

An ancient and filthy blanket is crumpled against one wall of the cave.

You glance outside. The moment is gone. The sun has set, although the clouds are still well-lit.
You look at the blanket
It's a ratty old blanket, torn and mouse-chewed, tangled with bits of twig and old leaves. Nonetheless, it looks warm.
You take the blanket
Taken.
You go to the east
The cave narrows to a crack in back; you really can't go very far.
Go outside
You crawl out.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the last light. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.
You drop the blanket
Dropped.

You glance outside. The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.
Leave
You crawl out.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.

The fox darts at something in the undergrowth.
Inventory
You are carrying a blanket, a broken spade shaft and a battered tin bucket.

You glance outside. The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.
You wait a while
Time passes.
Inventory
You are carrying a blanket, a broken spade shaft and a battered tin bucket.
You exit
You crawl out.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the last light. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
You go northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of dimming meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with dark streams. In the distance, a lake glows pale in the last light of the sky.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.

The fox chases around your feet for a moment. It seems to be watching something you hold.
You go to the southwest
A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans comfortably against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, a dark shape in the twilight; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.
You go south
Elsewhere in the park, flowers lie in hollows and peek out from under the brush. Here you have found a profusion of them. Sprays of white and blue lie everywhere; the vines ripple yellow, although the blooms are closing for the night.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.
Go west
Beyond the rise, the hill drops almost straight down to the stream.
You jump
You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
Go east
The trail turns northeast as it climbs.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Mist hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and clouds beyond sweep away into the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.
Go west
The hill is too steep and overgrown to descend.
You go southwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Elsewhere in the park, flowers lie in hollows and peek out from under the brush. Here you have found a profusion of them. Sprays of white and blue lie everywhere; the vines ripple yellow, although the blooms are closing for the night.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.
You go to the southeast
You have barely left sight of the wildflowers when the trail ends. It looks like it was washed out; and the scree that covers the hill face is much too unstable to venture across. You have no choice but to return.
Go east
The trail turns northeast as it climbs.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Mist hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and clouds beyond sweep away into the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.

The blanket is getting damp.
Go south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, to the misty meadows below.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.
Go east
The door to the shed is closed. You tug on it and rattle the latch, but it's locked, and the lock looks hopelessly rusted.

The blanket is getting damp.
Go north
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Mist hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and clouds beyond sweep away into the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.
Go northwest
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of dark meadowland, barely visible in the thickening mist.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The blanket is getting damp.
You go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist and rain. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
You enter the cave
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a lit circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

You glance outside. It's dark and it's raining.
Sleep
You wrap yourself snugly in the blanket and curl up on the floor. It's hard, but you're dry and warm. What else could you ask for? Your eyes close and the cave drifts away...

[Hit any key.]
Stone dissolves around you as move up and forwards, into a grainy grey light. A mindless roar stretches in all directions; but it is troubled by a distant murmur. The new sound swells, whispering, pounding, then shouting at you, and you cannot make it out and you cannot make it go --

Something awakens you.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a dim circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

The voices are still audible. They surge and swell, on the edge of audibility, somewhere to the west. You are almost certain you hear your name being called.
You listen
A sussurus of voices comes from the west, too faint to make out but too loud to ignore. You are almost certain you hear your name, though, and something in you moves to respond.
You go outside
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The blanket has gotten quite soaked.

The voices surge, then fade.
You listen
A sussurus of voices comes from the west, too faint to make out but too loud to ignore. You are almost certain you hear your name, though, and something in you moves to respond.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You go northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A black expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain. Every few moments, a directionless flicker of lightning tries to pull detail from the darkness; but there is only mist.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
Go southwest
A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans uncertainly against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, a black shape made of night and rain; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.

The voices surge, and you realize the sounds comes from the west, from the other side of the stream. And they are coming closer. You are very sure, suddenly, that you do not want them to reach you.
Go west
The thought of crossing into that darkness, with its inhabitants, is beyond bearing.
Shout
Whom do you want to shout that to?
You go northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A black expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain. Every few moments, a directionless flicker of lightning tries to pull detail from the darkness; but there is only mist.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.
You go to the southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.
Go south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
Inventory
You are carrying a blanket, a broken spade shaft and a battered tin bucket.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
You go to the north
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. Simultaneously the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder. It is echoed by a splintering concussion right above your head, or, from the feel of it, just inside.

You watch the tree topple through blobs of dull color.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The runoff water is backing up behind the fallen tree.

You pick yourself up shakily, although you can't quite remember falling. The air is full of smoke.
Go southwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A profusion of flowers lie here, mostly furled against the rain. Edges of white and blue and yellow barely show in the darkness.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

The voices surge, then fade.
You look at the tree
The tree has fallen downslope, across the path, and is lying awkwardly in the undergrowth. The upper end -- which is to say, the lower end -- is blackened and split.

The runoff water begins to spill out from behind the tree, down the southwest path.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

The voices surge, then fade.
You fill the bucket
You fill the bucket with water.
Go south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.
You pour the water on the lock
The water splashes over the old shed and dribbles away.

The voices surge, then fade.
You hit the lock
It may be weathered, but it's not weakened. You can't even shake it.

From somewhere below, you hear a terrible

Crack!

You know without seeing that the bridge has been destroyed. You begin to rush downhill, but the trail seems to stretch and time takes on the weight of nightmare...

[Hit any key.]
You awaken in the cave, sore and cold, bathed in the listless light of an overcast dawn. By the time you wade across the swollen stream, you're as soaked and miserable as if you'd slept out in the rain after all. You reach civilization exhausted and with what promises to be a lovely cough.
You go south
Elsewhere in the park, flowers lie in hollows and peek out from under the brush. Here you have found a profusion of them. Sprays of white and blue lie everywhere; the vines ripple yellow.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.

A glint in a nearby bush looks more metallic than floral.
You get the glint
(It turns out to be a battered old tin bucket.) Taken.
You fill the bucket
You fill the bucket with water.
You go to the northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects white fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.

The sun is lazily approaching the horizon.

You catch a pair of dark eyes in the edge of your vision; then they are gone.
You pour the water on the spade
You splash the water around the spade. The mud absorbs it greedily.

From within some tall grass, you notice a pair of dark eyes. The grass blinks, and then it is a small, orange fox who watches you solemnly.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the thickening sunlight. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop.
Wedge blade under rock
You notice a cave of some sort behind the boulder. (Who would have guessed?)

You push the spade under the boulder, kick the blade to settle it, and lean on the shaft. Nothing happens for a moment, and you're leaning harder, and the boulder starts to move, and

Crack!

The spade's shaft has broken off in your hands, right above the blade, which is now caught under the boulder. On the other hand, you've moved the boulder up out of its hole; it's balanced on the rim.
You go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Greenery hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and sky beyond sweep away endlessly to the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path. You could probably use it to get across. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little nicer.)

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

You catch a pair of dark eyes in the edge of your vision; then they are gone.
Go south
You heft the broken spade, considering your balance. You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of bushes and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, to the meadows below; you can see a lake far to the west.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.
You hit the lock
It may be weathered, but it's not weakened. You can't even shake it.
You break the lock
It may be weathered, but it's not weakened. You can't even shake it.

The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
Dig
What do you want to dig in?
You go to the north
You heft the broken spade, considering your balance. You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Greenery hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and sky beyond sweep away endlessly to the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The fox appears beside a clump of weeds.
Go southwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Elsewhere in the park, flowers lie in hollows and peek out from under the brush. Here you have found a profusion of them. Sprays of white and blue lie everywhere; the vines ripple yellow.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.

The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
Go north
A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans comfortably against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, shining in the afternoon sunlight; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.
You go northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects white fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.

The sun is lazily approaching the horizon.
You pour the water on the spade
You splash the water around the spade. The mud absorbs it greedily.
Wedge blade under boulder
You notice a cave of some sort behind the boulder. (Who would have guessed?)

You push the spade under the boulder, kick the blade to settle it, and lean on the shaft. Nothing happens for a moment, and you're leaning harder, and the boulder starts to move, and

Crack!

The spade's shaft has broken off in your hands, right above the blade, which is now caught under the boulder. On the other hand, you've moved the boulder up out of its hole; it's balanced on the rim.

From within some tall grass, you notice a pair of dark eyes. The grass blinks, and then it is a small, orange fox who watches you solemnly.

The fox chases around your feet for a moment. It seems to be watching something you hold.
You go east
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a circle of scarlet and gold to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

An ancient and filthy blanket is crumpled against one wall of the cave.
You dig the mud
You scrape some mud away. Aside from getting your hands dirty, it accomplishes little.
You take blanket
Taken.

You glance outside. The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
Go west
You crawl out.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the sunlight, sweeping to the ribbons of color on the horizon. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
Wait
Time passes.

From within some tall grass, you notice a pair of dark eyes. The grass blinks, and then it is a small, orange fox who watches you solemnly.
You throw the stick
The fox cocks its head as you wind up; it tenses to spring, and you hurl the stick far back into the undergrowth. With a yip the fox streaks after it.

A moment later it's back, bushy tail high. It drops its prize at your feet.
You take the stick
Taken.
You throw the stick
The fox cocks its head as you wind up; it tenses to spring, and you hurl the stick far back into the undergrowth. With a yip the fox streaks after it.

A moment later it's back, bushy tail high. It drops its prize at your feet with an unexpected clink.
You wait
Time passes.

The western horizon has become a surging sea of gold and scarlet waves. The light is magical -- a cool bronze radiance that somehow makes the grass and foliage more intensely green than ever.
You enter the cave
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a circle of blinding crimson to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.
Sleep
It's not even dark yet!

You glance outside. The moment is gone. The sun has set, although the clouds are still well-lit.
You wait a while
Time passes.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

You glance outside. The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.
You wait
Time passes.

You glance outside. The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

You glance outside. It's dark and it's raining.
Sleep
You wrap yourself snugly in the blanket and curl up on the floor. It's hard, but you're dry and warm. What else could you ask for? Your eyes close and the cave drifts away...

[Hit any key.]
Stone dissolves around you as move up and forwards, into a grainy grey light. A mindless roar stretches in all directions; but it is troubled by a distant murmur. The new sound swells, whispering, pounding, then shouting at you, and you cannot make it out and you cannot make it go --

Something awakens you.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a dim circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

The voices are still audible. They surge and swell, on the edge of audibility, somewhere to the west. You are almost certain you hear your name being called.
Go west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A rusty steel key is lying on the ground.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The blanket has gotten quite soaked.

That's odd. The steel key doesn't seem as rusty as you first thought.
You drop the blanket
Dropped.
Go west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A rusty steel key is lying on the ground.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The voices surge, then fade.

That's odd. The steel key doesn't seem as rusty as you first thought.
You look around
You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a lit circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

You glance outside. It's dark and it's raining.
You take the key
Taken.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You go northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A black expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain. Every few moments, a directionless flicker of lightning tries to pull detail from the darkness; but there is only mist.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
Go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path. You could probably use it to get across. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little nicer.)

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The voices surge, then fade.
Unlock shed
What do you want to unlock the old shed with?
Key
The lock is stiff. You give the key a jerk; the latch scrapes, and the door swings open.
Go east
You step hesitantly into the darkness.

You feel the hollow darkness of an enclosed space. To the west, an oblong of flat grey half-light betrays the doorway. Nothing else is visible.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder from outside.

The pure white fades into a greenish glare. Flat colored shadows show the outlines of everything around you; you hold your head still to focus on the afterimages.

The shed is only a few paces long, and nearly empty. The door is to the west.

A pair of large canvas bags is piled untidily here. One is rather dirty; the other has a tear along one seam, from which sand dribbles onto the ground.

The voices surge, then fade.
You look at bags
Which do you mean, the dirty sandbag or the torn sandbag?
You examine the dirty sandbag
It's a canvas bag, more than two feet long. The surface is liberally smeared with mud.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

It is dark.
You wait
Time passes.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. Simultaneously the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder from outside. It is echoed by a splintering crash from somewhere outside.

The pure white fades into a greenish glare. Flat colored shadows show the outlines of everything around you; you hold your head still to focus on the afterimages.

The shed is only a few paces long, and nearly empty. The door is to the west.

A pair of large canvas bags is piled untidily here. One is rather dirty; the other has a tear along one seam, from which sand dribbles onto the ground.
You take all
dirty sandbag: You heave the dirty sandbag, awkwardly, up into your arms.
torn sandbag: One of these things, you can barely carry. Two, never.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

The voices surge, then fade.

It is dark.
You open the dirty sandbag
It's sewn shut.
You check your inventory
You are carrying a dirty sandbag, a rusty key and a battered tin bucket.
You look
You feel the hollow darkness of an enclosed space. To the west, an oblong of flat grey half-light betrays the doorway. Nothing else is visible.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go west
You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is open to the unrelieved darkness within.

From somewhere below, you hear a terrible

Crack!

You know without seeing that the bridge has been destroyed. You begin to rush downhill, but the trail seems to stretch and time takes on the weight of nightmare...

[Hit any key.]
You examine the dirty sandbag
You awaken in the cave, sore and cold, bathed in the listless light of an overcast dawn. By the time you wade across the swollen stream, you're as soaked and miserable as if you'd slept out in the rain after all. You reach civilization exhausted and with what promises to be a lovely cough.
Go north
You catch a pair of dark eyes in the edge of your vision; then they are gone.
You fill the bucket
You fill the bucket with water.

From within some tall grass, you notice a pair of dark eyes. The grass blinks, and then it is a small, orange fox who watches you solemnly.
You look at the fox
The fox's eyes gleam darkly.

The sun is lazily approaching the horizon.

The fox chases its tail furiously for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
Go east
The hillside is bare rock in that direction, and much too steep to climb.
You go to the northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects orange fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.
You pour water
What do you want to pour the quantity of water on?
Mud
You splash the water around the spade. The mud absorbs it greedily.
You dig the trench
You scrape some more dirt from the trench. Aside from getting your hands dirty, it accomplishes little.
You go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Greenery hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and sky beyond sweep away endlessly to the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path. You could probably use it to get across. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little nicer.)

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.
Go south
You heft the broken spade, considering your balance. You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of bushes and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, to the meadows below; you can see a lake far to the west.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.

The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
You throw the stick
Thrown.
You get the stick
Taken.
You look at the shed
The shed is weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed. The lock looks badly rusted.
Inventory
You are carrying a broken spade and a battered tin bucket.

The fox appears under a nearby bush.

The fox darts at something in the undergrowth.
You get the stick
Taken.

The western horizon has become a surging sea of gold and scarlet waves. The light is magical -- a cool bronze radiance that somehow makes the grass and foliage more intensely green than ever.

The fox has slipped away.
You look
You are in a dense tangle of bushes, small trees, and shadow. The ground falls away to the southeast, to the green meadows below; you can see a lake far to the west.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.
You go to the north
You heft the broken spade, considering your balance. You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The moment is gone. The sun has set, although the clouds are still well-lit.

You catch a pair of dark eyes in the edge of your vision; then they are gone.
You go northwest
Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the last light. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is half-buried at the base of the hilltop.

The fox appears under a nearby bush.
You throw the stick
Thrown.

The fox darts at something in the undergrowth.
You get the stick
Taken.
Wedge boulder
What do you want to wedge the boulder in?
Wedge stick
What do you want to wedge the broken spade in?
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying a broken spade and a battered tin bucket.

The fox vanishes.
Pry boulder
As you lean over the boulder, you notice a cave of some sort behind it.

You grasp the boulder as best you can and heave -- fruitlessly. It's well sunk into the ground.

The sky is dimming, and a mist is rolling in, under the clouds.
You insert the spade
What do you want to insert the broken spade in?
Boulder
You push the spade under the boulder, kick the blade to settle it, and lean on the shaft. Nothing happens for a moment, and you're leaning harder, and the boulder starts to move, and

Crack!

The spade's shaft has broken off in your hands, right above the blade, which is now caught under the boulder. On the other hand, you've moved the boulder up out of its hole; it's balanced on the rim.
You get the boulder
The boulder is too heavy to lift.
You get blade
The boulder is resting full on the spade blade.
Go east
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a lit circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

An ancient and filthy blanket is crumpled against one wall of the cave.
You go west
You crawl out.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.
You look around
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist and rain. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
You wait
Time passes.

It's dark and it's raining.

The fox appears from behind the boulder.

The fox glances at you, or perhaps something you hold.
You throw the stick
You wind up and hurl the stick into the undergrowth. The fox turn to watch it fly, and then looks back at you. Its expression is quite clear: if you want the stick lost in cold, dripping-wet vegetation, that's entirely a matter between you and the stick.
You look
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in rain. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The fox disappears in a flash of orange fur.
You go the cave
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a dim circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

An ancient and filthy blanket is crumpled against one wall of the cave.

You are getting tired.
Go east
Enter saved game to load: Ok.
Inventory
You are carrying a broken spade shaft and a battered tin bucket.
You look around
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
You go east
You squeeze behind the boulder and crawl inside.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a lit circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

An ancient and filthy blanket is crumpled against one wall of the cave.

You glance outside. The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.
Wear blanket
(first taking the blanket)
You can't wear that!
Wait
Time passes.

You are getting tired.
Sleep
You wrap yourself snugly in the blanket and curl up on the floor. It's hard, but you're dry and warm. What else could you ask for? Your eyes close and the cave drifts away...

[Hit any key.]
Sleep
Stone dissolves around you as move up and forwards, into a grainy grey light. A mindless roar stretches in all directions; but it is troubled by a distant murmur. The new sound swells, whispering, pounding, then shouting at you, and you cannot make it out and you cannot make it go --

Something awakens you.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a dim circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

The voices are still audible. They surge and swell, on the edge of audibility, somewhere to the west. You are almost certain you hear your name being called.
F.
Enter saved game to store: Ok.
Go west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The blanket has gotten quite soaked.
You go to the west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The voices surge, then fade.
Wait
Time passes.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
You wait
Time passes.

The voices surge, then fade.
You wait
Time passes.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A black expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain. Every few moments, a directionless flicker of lightning tries to pull detail from the darkness; but there is only mist.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
You wait
Time passes.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. Simultaneously the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder. It is echoed by a splintering crash from the southeast.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
Wait
Time passes.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

The voices surge, then fade.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The torrent of runoff slackens sharply; in moments there is only a trickle left.
Wait
Time passes.

From somewhere below, you hear a terrible

Crack!

You know without seeing that the bridge has been destroyed. You begin to rush downhill, but the trail seems to stretch and time takes on the weight of nightmare...

[Hit any key.]
Wait
You awaken in the cave, sore and cold, bathed in the listless light of an overcast dawn. By the time you wade across the swollen stream, you're as soaked and miserable as if you'd slept out in the rain after all. You reach civilization exhausted and with what promises to be a lovely cough.
Go east
Enter saved game to load: Ok.
Look around
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The fox appears from behind the boulder.
You throw the stick
The fox cocks its head as you wind up; it tenses to spring, and you hurl the stick far back into the undergrowth. With a yip the fox streaks after it.

A moment later it's back, bushy tail high. It drops its prize at your feet.
You get the stick
Taken.

The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.

The fox glances at you, or perhaps something you hold.
Look around
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist and rain. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The fox blinks.
You check your inventory
You are carrying a broken spade shaft and a battered tin bucket.

The fox disappears in a flash of orange fur.
You go northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of dark meadowland, barely visible in the thickening mist.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.
You get the stick
Taken.

The trickle of runoff coming down the southeast path gains strength. Rapidly it becomes a small torrent, pouring by you, out along the trench, and down to the stream below.
You go to the east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows fade in the mist and rain. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

It's dark and it's raining.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.

The fox suddenly shakes a shower of droplets off itself.
Go south
The underbrush is too dense in that direction.
Go northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. A dark expanse stretches to the north and west, impenetrable with rain.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.
You go to the southwest
A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans uncertainly against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, a black shape made of night and rain; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.
You fill the bucket
You fill the bucket with water.

You are getting tired.
Go south
A profusion of flowers lie here, mostly furled against the rain. Edges of white and blue and yellow barely show in the darkness.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.
Go east
The trail turns northeast as it climbs.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.
You throw the stick
You wind up and hurl the stick into the undergrowth. The fox turn to watch it fly, and then looks back at you. Its expression is quite clear: if you want the stick lost in cold, dripping-wet vegetation, that's entirely a matter between you and the stick.

It's dark and it's raining. Hard.
Look around
You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a dim circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.
You go to the west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The blanket has gotten quite soaked.

The voices surge, then fade.
You drop the blanket
Dropped.

The voices surge, then fade.
Go west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
You wait
Time passes.

The voices surge, then fade.
Go northeast
A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of bright meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with streams that glitter in the sunlight. In the distance, a lake reflects white fire from the setting sun.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank. Abandoned in the mud near it is a spade. You figure someone was using the spade to dig the trench, and you can also figure why he stopped; the shaft is broken off about two feet up from the blade. The handle end is nowhere in sight.

The sun is lazily approaching the horizon.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.
You pour water
What do you want to pour the quantity of water on?
Mud
You splash the water around the spade. The mud absorbs it greedily.
Wait
Time passes.

The fox appears on a nearby rock.
You throw the stick
The fox cocks its head as you wind up; it tenses to spring, and you hurl the stick far back into the undergrowth. With a yip the fox streaks after it.

A moment later it's back, bushy tail high. It drops its prize at your feet.

The sun is settling to the horizon, amid a scattering of clouds which have begun to drift in.
Look around
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the sunlight, sweeping to the ribbons of color on the horizon. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

You can also see a broken spade shaft here.

The fox chases its tail furiously for a moment, then stops and stares at you to make sure you didn't see.
You throw the stick
The fox cocks its head as you wind up; it tenses to spring, and you hurl the stick far back into the undergrowth. With a yip the fox streaks after it.

A moment later it's back, bushy tail high. It drops its prize at your feet with an unexpected clink.
Describe the surroundings
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, meadows glow in the sunlight, sweeping to the ribbons of color on the horizon. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A rusty steel key is lying on the ground.

A small orange fox is perched nearby, staring at you with undisguised interest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
You get the key
Taken.

The fox darts at something in the undergrowth.
Wait
Time passes.

You glance outside. The western horizon has become a surging sea of gold and scarlet waves. The light is magical -- a cool bronze radiance that somehow makes the grass and foliage more intensely green than ever.
Wait
Time passes.

You glance outside. The moment is gone. The sun has set, although the clouds are still well-lit.
Wait
Time passes.

You glance outside. The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.

Time passes.

Time passes.
Sleep
You take the blanket, wrap yourself snugly in it, and curl up on the floor. It's hard, but you're dry and warm. What else could you ask for? Your eyes close and the cave drifts away...

[Hit any key.]
Yo
Stone dissolves around you as move up and forwards, into a grainy grey light. A mindless roar stretches in all directions; but it is troubled by a distant murmur. The new sound swells, whispering, pounding, then shouting at you, and you cannot make it out and you cannot make it go --

Something awakens you.

You are in a dark pocket, a stony crack below the summit of the hill. It is not quite high enough to stand in, but surprisingly long, narrowing only slowly towards the back. The entrance is a dim circle of grey to the west, partially obscured by the boulder.

The voices are still audible. They surge and swell, on the edge of audibility, somewhere to the west. You are almost certain you hear your name being called.
You go west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The blanket has gotten quite soaked.
Inventory
You are carrying a rusty key and a battered tin bucket.

The voices surge, then fade.

That's odd. The steel key doesn't seem as rusty as you first thought.
You go west
You crawl out. The rain lashes your face.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The voices surge, then fade.
Go downwards
The trail turns west as it descends.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the southeast, and pouring down the trench to the unseen stream below.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You go southeast
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path. You could probably use it to get across. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little nicer.)

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, and streams down the northwest path.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
Go south
You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is closed.

The voices surge, then fade.
Unlock shed
What do you want to unlock the old shed with?
Key
The lock is stiff. You give the key a jerk; the latch scrapes, and the door swings open.

That's odd. The steel key doesn't seem as rusty as you first thought.
Go east
You step hesitantly into the darkness.

You feel the hollow darkness of an enclosed space. To the west, an oblong of flat grey half-light betrays the doorway. Nothing else is visible.
You wait
Time passes.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder from outside.

The pure white fades into a greenish glare. Flat colored shadows show the outlines of everything around you; you hold your head still to focus on the afterimages.

The shed is only a few paces long, and nearly empty. The door is to the west.

A pair of large canvas bags is piled untidily here. One is rather dirty; the other has a tear along one seam, from which sand dribbles onto the ground.

The voices surge, then fade.
You get torn
You heave the torn sandbag, awkwardly, up into your arms. You manage to do it without straining the torn cloth further.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

It is dark.
Go west
A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is open to the unrelieved darkness within.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. Simultaneously the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder. It is echoed by a splintering crash from the north.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
Go north
You heft the torn sandbag, considering your balance. You stretch a foot towards the bush, shift your weight, and take two quick steps. The bush trembles but holds.

A bush is growing out of a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

A heavy branch seems to have been blown from the tree. It lies on the ground nearby. One end is still burning.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree.

The runoff water begins to spill out from behind the tree, down the southwest path.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

The voices surge, then fade.
Go southwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

The trickle of rainwater coming down the east path gains strength. Rapidly it becomes a small torrent.
You go north
The trickle of runoff coming down the south path gains strength. Rapidly it becomes a small torrent.

The runoff water is pouring down to the stream, right over the bridge pilings. The muddy earth below the bridge is wearing away.

The voices surge, and you realize the sounds comes from the west, from the other side of the stream. And they are coming closer. You are very sure, suddenly, that you do not want them to reach you.
You drop torn
You lower the torn sandbag to the ground, trying not to strain it.

The runoff water is backing up behind the torn sandbag.

You jerk as a shape darts past you. Wild orange fury -- it's the fox, hurtling up onto the bridge like an avenging spirit. The fox crouches on the wet planks and stares fiercely out to the west.

The distant murmur of voices, across the bridge, seems closer now.
Go east
The trail turns southeast as it climbs.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.
You get the blade
Taken.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
Go downward
The trail turns west as it descends.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
Go southeast
The bush seems to have been utterly demolished by the falling boulder. Nothing is left in the crack but a couple of splinters. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little stranger.)

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

A heavy branch seems to have been blown from the tree. It lies on the ground nearby, blackened but no longer burning.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path.

The voices surge, then fade.
Wedge blade
What do you want to wedge the spade blade in?
Crack
What do you want to crack?
Wedge blade in crack
The spade blade slips into the crack. You stretch and give it a couple of whacks, to wedge it in place.
You get branch
Taken.
You look
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Rain hides the stream below and the hilltop above, and to the west is only dark.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
Go south
You heft the heavy branch, considering your balance. You realize that you'll never make it across. The blade only sticks out a few inches from the hillside; you'd be off-balance enough by yourself, never mind what you're carrying.
You look
You are high on the hill; it rolls downward and off to the west. Beyond the trees and brush, the world is cloaked in dark rain, and scarred with distant lightning. Behind you stands the last stony lump of hill. A narrow trail curves away to the northwest.

A boulder is lying at the base of the hilltop, prised up out of the hole it was in. The boulder is resting on a spade blade. There's just enough room to squeeze into the cave behind it.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You go southwest
The fox is crouched on the bridge, staring out to the west with impenetrable intensity.

A torn sandbag is lying in a narrow part of the path.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

The fox's ears twitch tensely.
You go to the south
The boulder is lying near here, on the path, wedged against the rise.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the east, and backing up on the path here.

The runoff water is backing up behind the boulder.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go east
The trail turns northeast as it climbs.

The bush seems to have been utterly demolished by the falling boulder. Nothing is left in the crack but a couple of splinters. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little stranger.)

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

A heavy branch seems to have been blown from the tree. It lies on the ground nearby, blackened but no longer burning.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying a rusty key and a battered tin bucket.
Go south
The gap is too wide to jump, and you'll never get a foothold in that crack.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying a rusty key and a battered tin bucket.

The voices surge, then fade.
Inventory
You are carrying a heavy branch, a rusty key and a battered tin bucket.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You drop all
heavy branch: Dropped.
rusty key: Dropped.
battered tin bucket: Dropped.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You drop all except the branch
rusty key: Dropped.
battered tin bucket: Dropped.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying a heavy branch.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
You go northwest
Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go southwest
The fox is crouched on the bridge, staring out to the west with impenetrable intensity.

A torn sandbag is lying in a narrow part of the path.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
You look at the fox
The fox's eyes gleam darkly.
You go to the south
The boulder is lying near here, on the path, wedged against the rise.

A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the east, and backing up on the path here.

The runoff water is backing up behind the boulder.

The voices surge, then fade.
You look at the water
A stream of runoff water is flowing down from the east, and backing up on the path here.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The runoff water is backing up behind the boulder.
Go east
The trail turns northeast as it climbs.

The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.
You drop the branch
Dropped.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go south
You flatten your body against the hillside, and stretch a foot towards the spade blade, off-center though you'll be. One quick step; you manage to fall forward onto the trail rather than sideways.

The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is open to the unrelieved darkness within.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
Go east
You step hesitantly into the darkness.
Wait
Time passes.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder from outside.

The pure white fades into a greenish glare. Flat colored shadows show the outlines of everything around you; you hold your head still to focus on the afterimages.

The shed is only a few paces long, and nearly empty. The door is to the west.

A dirty sandbag is lying on the ground.
You get the dirty sandbag
You heave the dirty sandbag, awkwardly, up into your arms.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.

It is dark.
You look at the sandbag
It's too dark to see.
Go west
The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is open to the unrelieved darkness within.
You drop the bag
Dropped.
You get the bag
You heave the dirty sandbag, awkwardly, up into your arms.

From somewhere below, you hear a terrible

Crack!

You know without seeing that the bridge has been destroyed. You begin to rush downhill, but the trail seems to stretch and time takes on the weight of nightmare...

[Hit any key.]
You go west
The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is open to the unrelieved darkness within.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go north
You heft the dirty sandbag, considering your balance. You realize that you'll never make it across. The blade only sticks out a few inches from the hillside; you'd be off-balance enough by yourself, never mind what you're carrying.
You go to the south
The ground drops almost straight down in that direction.
You go upward
No trails go up the hill from here, and the undergrowth is too heavy to push through.
Look around
You are in a dense tangle of shadow, bushes, and small trees. The ground falls away to the southeast, into darkness and rain.

A trail curves down to the southwest. Another cuts along the hill to the north, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the north. It's right in the gap in the northern path.

An old shed stands just to the east. It's weathered but sturdy, still wearing the tatters of a coat of white paint. The door is open to the unrelieved darkness within.
You get the blade
Taken.

The afterimages evaporate into a black dazzle.
Go south
The underbrush is too dense in that direction.
You go to the north-west
The trail turns west as it descends.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The voices surge, then fade.
You go to the southeast
The bush seems to have been utterly demolished by the falling boulder. Nothing is left in the crack but a couple of splinters. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little stranger.)

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

A heavy branch seems to have been blown from the tree. It lies on the ground nearby, blackened but no longer burning.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path.
You get branch
Taken.
Wedge blade in crack
The spade blade slips into the crack. You stretch and give it a couple of whacks, to wedge it in place.

A no-time, eternal instant of light lances through you, snapping your mind to silence. A moment later the silence is broken by a

Crack!

of thunder.

Afterimages hang around you in a greenish glare. You blink furiously, trying to sort out the shadows from what's really there.

The voices surge, then fade.
You throw the bag across
What do you want to throw the dirty sandbag across?
You throw the bag north
You heave the dirty sandbag across the gap; it thuds onto the trail on the other side.
You go north
You flatten your body against the hillside, and stretch a foot towards the spade blade, off-center though you'll be. One quick step; you manage to fall forward onto the trail rather than sideways.

The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

A dirty sandbag is lying on the ground.

A heavy branch lies on the ground nearby, blackened but no longer burning.

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path. The sandbag is lying in the torrent, but the path is too wide here; the water pours around it.

From somewhere below, you hear a terrible

Crack!

You know without seeing that the bridge has been destroyed. You begin to rush downhill, but the trail seems to stretch and time takes on the weight of nightmare...

[Hit any key.]
Go north
You awaken in the cave, sore and cold, bathed in the listless light of an overcast dawn. By the time you wade across the swollen stream, you're as soaked and miserable as if you'd slept out in the rain after all. You reach civilization exhausted and with what promises to be a lovely cough.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying a blanket, a rusty key and a battered tin bucket.

That's odd. The steel key doesn't seem as rusty as you first thought.
You go to the north
You flatten your body against the hillside, and stretch a foot towards the spade blade, off-center though you'll be. One quick step; you manage to fall forward onto the trail rather than sideways.

The spade blade is jammed into a crack in the hillside, to the south. It's right in the gap in the southern path.

A dirty sandbag is lying on the ground.

A heavy branch lies on the ground nearby, blackened but no longer burning.

The lone tree has been laid low. About ten feet still sticks up from the ground; the rest lies across the path and downslope, splintered and scorched.

Runoff water is flowing down the hillside here. It puddles on the ledge, behind the fallen tree, and streams down the southwest path. The sandbag is lying in the torrent, but the path is too wide here; the water pours around it.
You get the sandbag
You heave the dirty sandbag, awkwardly, up into your arms.

From somewhere below, you hear a terrible

Crack!

You know without seeing that the bridge has been destroyed. You begin to rush downhill, but the trail seems to stretch and time takes on the weight of nightmare...

[Hit any key.]
You go to the northwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A wide angular tongue juts out from the hillside. The park stretches off to the north and west, a vast expanse of dim meadowland, patched with dark woods and stitched with dark streams. A layer of mist is rolling across the landscape.

A trail leads southwest down the hill, towards the bridge. From where you stand, it turns southeast and continues upward, deeply cut into the hillside. A narrower trail leads more steeply up to the east.

Someone has dug a trench here, from the path out over the bank.

The mist is turning to a drizzle of rain.

The fox appears under a nearby bush.
Go down
A slope descends to the noisy stream to the west. The old wooden bridge which spans it leans uncertainly against the bank at your feet. To the east rises the flank of the hill, a dark shape in the twilight; two usable trails lead up around it, to the south and the northeast.
You go south
A profusion of flowers lie here, mostly furled against the rain. Edges of white and blue and yellow show in the dim light.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.

The boulder is lying near here, on the path, wedged against the rise.
You go east
The trail turns northeast as it climbs.

You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Mist hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and clouds beyond sweep away into the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

The bush seems to have been utterly demolished by the falling boulder. Nothing is left in the crack but a couple of splinters. (One of those little coincidences that makes your life a little stranger.)

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.
Go west
The hill is too steep and overgrown to descend.
Go southwest
The trail turns west as it descends.

A profusion of flowers lie here, mostly furled against the rain. Edges of white and blue and yellow show in the dim light.

Beyond a slight rise to the west, the ground drops precipitously to the stream. A trail leads northward towards the bridge; another heads steeply up to the east, and a third curves around the hill to the southeast.

The boulder is lying near here, on the path, wedged against the rise.
You go east
The hill is too steep and overgrown to climb.
You look
You're standing on a ledge, on a rather steep, overgrown hillface. Mist hides the stream below and the hilltop above, but the meadows and clouds beyond sweep away into the west.

Trails angle down to the northwest and southwest. Another crosses the hill to the south, but a chunk is washed out, too wide to jump across.

The bush seems to have been utterly demolished by the falling boulder. Nothing is left in the crack but a couple of splinters.

Among the hill's brush and scraggly trees, the tree that stands here stands alone. You might be able to get your arms around it, and you might not; it must reach nearly as high as the hilltop itself.

Runoff water is trickling down the hill, concentrated here by some twist of geography. It puddles on the ledge, then begins pouring down the path to the northwest.

The fox appears under a nearby bush.