He sat on the upper lip of a deep, dark, and stagnant pawn; breathing with the whole of his body. 'So much cold.' He felt that it had set into his bones and marrow. Each shiver felt the rattle of a matchbox, simply not enough, he wanted a fire.

Damian stood wobbly on the banks. As he did, he finally noticed how dark his surroundings were. There were many trees. They blocked out the sun. Birds weren't singing, so he thought it must have been night, or nearing.  He thought it much too silent if it weren't night.

The amount of light in the forest would be enough to measure as twilight outside of it, even still, he saw the pawn's darkness. Such a vivid dark that it stood out against the dead leaves and carcasses on its banks. Damian walked away from its still water. A bubble the size of a bolder stirred away from its depths. As it popped a croak came from it.

Damian ran.

His teeth were locked together as he looked over his shoulder while running. His eyes widened as he saw the creature's. Its eyes were useless; they were pale, white, and reminding him of animals that slept and woke up in caves. As more of it left the water, he saw that it was a frog-like. And he wished to see no more. Turning his sight, he made a quick hobbled away from the incline. 

The leaves were swathed and met often. So often that patches of light were a rarity. He searched for them, and they were noticeable in the dark.

As he got further away from the pawn there were more leaves. So he heard their crunches beneath his bare feet; there were more and more patches. 

He slowed, when the feeling beneath his feet changed. He saw pine needles and cones on the ground.

Scattered about. There were some that were gnawed on, and he found it odd, once again, that it could be so quiet if there were creatures around.

'I should keep moving.' He said to himself, worriedly.

The forest began to diversify, with tall pines shooting between increased openings of conifers, as swathed trees gave way to their wide sturdy cousins and some bushes. 

Damian paused before he figured that pinecones definitely weren't fruits, and they weren't very big, to begin with. He looked up to see the sun because it seemed tame for its place in hell. Its light was a yellow, pale coloured, he saw, it was earlier in the day then he had expected. Which made it odd, that in such volumes it could be so tepid. He needed warmth, badly. To the left, on the horizon, he saw a rising haze, and squinted, and saw that it was smoke.

As he walked towards the source, his feet had began to wear-down on the pines. He looked down and saw that his feet had turned blue. And he began to worry when he saw that his legs were too. And so were his hands, and arms. Damian saw that he was blue.