text: [Themes: Slice of life, Travel, conversation, sexual content, complex NPC]
  
  > Look around
  The tent is only slightly roomier inside than it would appear. Two can sleep comfortably here, side-by-side or like spoons, with only enough space at the foot for essential camping gear. It has a somewhat musty, much-loved scent, a smell it has earned with its years of frequent use.
  
  > Exit
  Remote and secluded, this is the perfect spot for a campsite. The ground is flat and slightly higher in the middle of the opening. A small two-person tent rests comfortably on a bed of leaves between a pair of the biggest trees. You can see a meadow to the north and a path leads east.
  
  The large bull elk is engaged in a sparring match, antlers locked with his younger rival. They have moved toward the meadows, and seem oblivious to your presence.
  
  > go to the north
  You are at the west edge of a large grassy meadow. Leaves from the surrounding trees litter the ground, piled against the tall white and black boles of the aspens that used to be their owners. To the south is your campsite.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers to the south.
  
  > go north
  You are at the north edge of the large and grassy meadow, bordered by aspen. Fireweed grows at the base of the trees, pink blooms withered and gone to seed.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the southwest.
  
  > go north
  You wander a bit into the forest, but directions are confusing, and you stop for fear of losing your way.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the southwest.
  
  > Go north
  You wander a bit into the forest, but directions are confusing, and you stop for fear of losing your way.
  
  Overhead, you can see the mid-afternoon sun making its way quickly toward an early evening.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the southwest.
  
  > go northwest
  You wander a bit into the forest, but directions are confusing, and you stop for fear of losing your way.
  
  > Go east
  The east end of the meadow is rocky, and you make your way carefully when you move. Further east, a granite cliff blocks your way. The remnants of an old mountain trail lead northeast.
  
  You can see Bob here, his stride long and sure, moving faster than most men half his age.
  
  Bob enters the aspen grove, and turns to look in your direction.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the west.
  
  > enter the grove
  That's not something you can enter.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the west.
  
  > follow Bob
  Bob moves so fast, you have a hard time keeping up. But you catch sight of him ahead, and do your best to follow.
  
  You stand in the middle of a grove of aspen, which extends in all directions. Slender white trunks reach for the sky with long thin fingers, stroking the clouds that blow in the autumn breeze. Leaves of gold rattle as the winds shift, and here and there one floats to the ground to join others that crackle underfoot when you move. A narrow path disappears east into the trees, and a camping area is visible through a small opening to the west. North is a wide meadow.
  
  > follow Bob
  Bob moves so fast, you have a hard time keeping up. But you catch sight of him ahead, and do your best to follow.
  The rocks are sharp. Although you have leather soles (but a soft soul), you feel the sharp edges and turn back.
  
  > wear the flops
  You put on the flipflops.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers to the west.
  
  > follow Bob
  You try to follow Bob but you can't see where he went.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers to the west.
  
  > go east
  Flip flop. Flip flop. Flip flop.
  
  A narrow winding path moves through the trees, gently climbing from west to east. Branches of blackberries encroach on the trail, their fruit nestled amongst the thorns. A small stream is visible through the trees to the south, and through the bushes, you can barely make out the shape of a small tower to the east.
  
  > Go east
  Flip flop. Flip flop. Flip flop.
  
  You're on a shelf overlooking a small canyon, apparently carved by the nearby stream and 20 or 30 feet deep. A rocky path enters from the west beside a tangle of blackberries, and dead ends at a ledge overlooking the stream below. Above you, granite walls continue to rise, the pink stones a beautiful contrast to the clear blue sky. An animal trail leads up, too steep to walk, but you might be able to make it in a scramble.
  
  Beside you, a trolley sits suspended from a steel cable.
  
  > wear the flops
  You put on the flipflops.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the southwest.
  
  > go east
  Flip flop. Flip flop. Flip flop.
  
  The east end of the meadow is rocky, and you make your way carefully when you move. Further east, a granite cliff blocks your way. The remnants of an old mountain trail lead northeast.
  
  You can see Bob here, his stride long and sure, moving faster than most men half his age.
  
  Bob enters the aspen grove, and turns to look in your direction.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers in the distance to the west.
  
  > follow Bob
  Flip flop. Flip flop. Flip flop.
  
  You stand in the middle of a grove of aspen, which extends in all directions. Slender white trunks reach for the sky with long thin fingers, stroking the clouds that blow in the autumn breeze. Leaves of gold rattle as the winds shift, and here and there one floats to the ground to join others that crackle underfoot when you move. A narrow path disappears east into the trees, and a camping area is visible through a small opening to the west. North is a wide meadow.
  
  You can see Bob here, his stride long and sure, moving faster than most men half his age.
  
  Bob follows the rocky path to the east. "You're coming, aren't you?" he calls, not even breathing hard. He walks fast for an old man. Come to think of it, he walks fast for a young man.
  
  You can hear the sound of clashing antlers to the west.
  
  > follow Bob
  Flip flop. Flip flop. Flip flop.
  
  A narrow winding path moves through the trees, gently climbing from west to east. Branches of blackberries encroach on the trail, their fruit nestled amongst the thorns. A small stream is visible through the trees to the south, and through the bushes, you can barely make out the shape of a small tower to the east.
  
  You can see Bob here, his stride long and sure, moving faster than most men half his age.
  
  Bob turns off the path and heads south, not pausing for a second.
  
  > go to the south
  Splish splash. Splish splash. Splish splash.
  
  You are at the north edge of an enticing mountain stream. The sound of the water flowing over rounded stones is enough to bring relaxation to even the weariest of travelers. Good thing, too, as your sore muscles scream from bouncing over too many rough roads. The only obvious trail leaves north.
  
  You can see Bob here, his stride long and sure, moving faster than most men half his age.
  
  Bob walks to the edge of the stream and places his leather portfolio carefully out of reach of the water. "This is such a beautiful stream," he says, his eyes alive. "I come here often and never get tired of the view."
  
  > examine portfolio
  A brown case with a leather finish.
  
  Bob opens his portfolio and removes an easel, which he sets up beside the stream.
  
  > ask Bob about the light
  "Sounds familiar. Hmmm. Sorry."
  
  > ask Bob about the torch
  "That's a funny thing to ask an old man about."
  
  > ask Bob about the fireflies
  "You'll find them in the meadow. Easier to find at night, though."
  
  > ask Bob about the portfolio
  "That's where I keep all my painting stuff," he says with a grin. "Joe gave that to me a few years ago, and I use it all the time."
  
  > ask Bob about Joe
  "Joe's my brother," Bob replies. "He's coming to see me next week."
  
  > examine the sky
  Overhead, you can see the mid-afternoon sun making its way quickly toward an early evening.
  
  Bob puts a small sheet of watercolor paper with an unfinished painting on the easel.
  
  > Painting
  "I love to paint the water," he answers. "And this time of year, the reflections are the best. Rich with color."
  
  > examine water
  (the stream)
  The stream babbles and beckons to you, and flows over a small waterfall from the east to disappear west. It's a pleasant sight after the last few weeks, and your eye lingers lazily to take it all in. The arrhythmic gurgles and splashes put you quickly at ease.
  
  Bob looks up suddenly, as if an idea has just struck him. "Do you like to read?" he asks you.
  
  > Yes
  "I thought so!" he says with an excitement he hasn't shown since you arrived. He goes to his portfolio and removes a well-worn paperback. "This is a collection of short stories I found, and it's an absolute delight to read. You might take it with you when you visit the hot spring. I love to pass the time there with a good book," he says as he hands it to you.
  
  > read it
  You open the collection of short stories, flipping quickly past the contents and the editor's notes. The first story begins:
  
  The Meteor, the Stone and a Long Glass of Sherbet
  
  Another day wasted as guest of the Empress, a wretchedly long tour of the breath-taking Boreal Falls, conducted as ever by the Lady Amilia. As if she weren't bad enough, an honour guard of soldiers, their breast-plates red in the setting sun, march ahead of the procession and protect you from seeing anything unrehearsed. It's a dog's life being an Ambassador.
  
  The story continues, but you close the book until later. A good story is so much better when you can read it straight through. Maybe at the hot spring...
  
  Taking the paints from the portfolio, Bob puts them on the shelf below the painting.
  
  > Thank Bob
  "No problem. Don't mention it," he says graciously.
  
  "Look who's coming!" shouts Bob, pointing toward the sky. A black shape soars overhead, and as you watch, tucks its wings into a pair of somersaulting rolls. Then, as if that were nothing, it lands in the branches of a cottonwood just upstream. "Rawk!" croaks the raven, its voice coarse and commanding.
  
  "I love ravens," Bob exclaims. "There's a lot of lore and legends about them. The Tlingit Indians believed the raven created the world and was the bringer of light, and they wove them into their stories and totem poles and ceremonies. A lot of people think they're ugly, all black and bad luck, but there's a bird that knows how to have fun. I love to watch them fly. And the noises they make."
  
  > Raven
  "Those birds sure know how to have fun," he smiles. "There are prettier ones, but none with the same personality."
  
  > look at the raven
  A large black bird, the raven watches every move you make, every stroke of Bob's brush. Occasionally he emits a deep croak or gurgle.
  
  "The coloration is so subtle," he tells you, "I could spend forever working on a painting like this."
  
  > Hi
  The raven is not important.
  
  Bob takes a look upstream, at the fast-flowing water and the moss-covered rocks. Then, he dips his brush and makes a few short dabs on the canvas.
  
  > Caw
  "That's a funny thing to ask an old man about."
  
  A dark gray bird flies to a moss-covered rock, pauses, and disappears under the surface of the water.
  
  "There's a dipper!" Bob points. "He'll be back in just a second. Those birds walk through rapids and don't even get wet. At least, they don't seem to notice."
  
  > read the note
  You take the note from your pocket and read it again:
  
  My Love:
  
  For five years now we have shared so many times together and made so many memories. All the places we've gone, the things we've seen, the friends we've met along the way.
  
  This is a favorite place of mine, I hope it will be for you. And I have a small birthday surprise in store. Meet me this evening in the hot spring. I'll find you there.
  
  Mixing some green with white on his palette, Bob sets to work on the little bit of foliage that hasn't yet turned for fall.
  
  > enter bag
  That's not something you can enter.
  
  Bob looks up at the stream, then back at his canvas.
  
  > look at the canvas
  A small watercolor painting of a fast-moving stream.
  
  Bob works some more with the reds, adding and blending the colors.
  
  > look at the sky
  Overhead, you can see the mid-afternoon sun making its way quickly toward an early evening.
  
  Bob takes a look upstream, at the fast-flowing water and the moss-covered rocks. Then, he dips his brush and makes a few short dabs on the canvas.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a paperback
  a rubber bag (which is open but empty)
  a glass canning jar (which is closed)
  a handful of washers
  a mason's brick
  a spruce walking stick
  eight ripe blackberries
  some picked avens
  a matchbook (which is open)
  a match
  a scrap of paper
  a bucket (which is full of water)
  a note
  a guidebook
  
  In addition, you are wearing:
  some shorts
  a shirt
  a pair of leather work gloves
  a pair of flipflops
  
  The dipper jumps into the fastest part of the stream, and returns a moment later with a small insect in its bill.
  
  Mixing some green with white on his palette, Bob sets to work on the little bit of foliage that hasn't yet turned for fall.
  
  > show stick to Bob
  "That's a nice one you found there. Would make a perfect walking stick."
  
  The American Dipper emerges from below the surface of the stream and stands, bobbing in place, at its edge.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a paperback
  a rubber bag (which is open but empty)
  a glass canning jar (which is closed)
  a handful of washers
  a mason's brick
  a spruce walking stick
  eight ripe blackberries
  some picked avens
  a matchbook (which is open)
  a match
  a scrap of paper
  a bucket (which is full of water)
  a note
  a guidebook
  
  In addition, you are wearing:
  some shorts
  a shirt
  a pair of leather work gloves
  a pair of flipflops
  
  Bob looks up at the stream, then back at his canvas.
  
  > examine the brick
  You see nothing special about the mason's brick.
  
  Bob works some more with the yellows, adding and blending the colors.
  
  > examine avens
  Tender branches of mountain avens, a leafy herb. If you were vegetarian, they would probably be great to eat.
  
  Bob takes a look upstream, at the fast-flowing water and the moss-covered rocks. Then, he dips his brush and makes a few short dabs on the canvas.
  
  > ask Bob about the fireflies
  "You'll find them in the meadow. Easier to find at night, though."
  
  The dipper flies low to a nearby rock, and curtsies.
  
  > eat avens
  You eat the tender and leafy herbs, but they weren't nearly as good as you had hoped.
  
  Mixing some white with the blue, Bob shades the shadowy pools that sit protected on the edge of the stream.
  
  > Time
  By your best guess, it's a little before 4:00 in the afternoon.
  
  > look at avens
  Tender branches of mountain avens, a leafy herb. If you were vegetarian, they would probably be great to eat.
  
  The dipper jumps into the fastest part of the stream, and returns a moment later with a small insect in its bill.
  
  Mixing some green with white on his palette, Bob sets to work on the little bit of foliage that hasn't yet turned for fall.