[The Hedge]

"I gathered that..." he grumbles, doing his best to ignore the creeping feeling that he's lost something of dreadful importance upon bumbling into the enchanted wood. With a sight he rises to his feet, gathering up the garishly pink baseball bat and peering down the meandering path that skirts the river that should be a road.

He's sure he never crossed it...

Fording a river would be something you remember.

Especially one as deep and treacherous as the foaming waters appear to be.

But if he's right and the log he was sitting on really is that memorial bench he's thinking of, then he's at least six blocks away from home.

Of course normal spatial relations wouldn't work right in an enchanted wood.

"Well... I guess I could try to back-track. Every time I have I've ended up further away than where I started. Unless of course that big rock is moving on its own when I'm not watching," he says, pointing at a rather craggy looking spire of granite sticking out of the river in the distance.

Said spire might be a troll.

You never know with trolls.

It's not that they're stealthy or tricky.

They're just really lazy.