This is how far I got into a story I started the other day. I’m not sure where it’ll go from here, Caspar will probably wake up for starters.

The trees were still dry. It hadn’t rained recently and the once green undergrowth was now an Elephant’s Graveyard, a spindly reminder of more luscious times. Caspar strode through the bracken, each step cushioned by the carpet of leaves underfoot. The gentle rustling that accompanied each step eventually faded into white noise. He kept walking though, ducking braches and stepping over logs, walking so deep into the woods that even the bird song began to fade. Eventually Caspar stopped and took scope of his situation, turning in a circle he surveyed his surroundings: trees whose leaves had all left home and moved to the floor, speckled in flecks of brilliant light. The light that was dusted over the ground was the only reminder of an outside world. Caspar didn’t care; he was looking for something and now seemed like a good time to take a break. Sitting on a nearby log, he unpacked a thermos from his satchel and poured himself a cup of tea. He sipped shortly and frequently from the hot drink, all the while stroking his tousled hair, removing little branches and bits of moss as he did.

The strange thing about Caspar was that he believed what he read. His theories and beliefs were founded on a strange foundation of women who lived in giant shoes, beanstalks that grew to impossible heights, and little boys who lived alone and never grew old. It was this last one that intrigued him the most. After finishing his tea and packing away his thermos, Caspar continued to walk into the deepening woods. The shattered light that had glistened so keenly on the forest floor slowly faded away to a few pieces here and there. The trees continued to knit themselves tighter and tighter, forcing Caspar to climb and squeeze his way through the ever-thickening thicket of the forest. Eventually Caspar had to leave his satchel behind because it kept getting caught on the out-stretched arms of the trees; he removed the thermos, left the satchel on the floor and continued to walk deeper and deeper, carrying the thermos in his right hand, in case he wanted a drink.

Finally, Caspar found what he wanted. It was a tiny glade in the middle of the forest, illuminated by the sumptuous light that smashed through the canopy of the forest, dazzling all who saw it. When emerging from the darkness of the wood visitors often got the impression that the bower was bathed in a naturally occurring green glow. This crossed Caspar’s mind briefly, but it was acknowledged all the less. He pushed himself between the two last trees and was in the glade. Without hesitation he walked to the centre of the opening, put down the thermos that was in his right hand and proceeded to scrape away the top layer of leaves, followed by the top layer of soil, then the top layer of clay-ey soil. He had found what he had wanted. Out of the hole he had scraped Caspar produced a beautifully delicate looking ram’s skull. It wasn’t pristine but the small shards that had broken off gave it an antiquated and ancient look. Caspar breathed quietly, placed the skull on his head and lay down on the ground. Within the confines of the ram’s skull his head was engulfed and he soon dropped off to sleep.