text: > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > pour the water on the spade
  You splash the water around the spade. The mud absorbs it greedily.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.