The sky hung onerous, painted in thick coats of omen-gray as Pooh Bear shuffled tentatively through the forest. A frigid mist saturated the air, threatening to collapse at any moment, and Pooh chuckled nervously to himself.

"The mist of the damned," he thought, half-joking. Ironic that this wasn't far from the truth.

His head throbbed and his mind bounced from thought to thought, almost dreamlike, though he knew he was awake. That seemed to be the only thing he knew for a fact at the moment. He remembered waking up, he recollected a glint of hunter orange from atop a young oak tree. . . then a flash of blinding white light. The rest was gone, lost in a multidimensional soup of blurred colors and distorted sounds.

But for right now, how he got here was of little significance as compared to finding out where "here" was. With a quivering sigh, Pooh continued to walk.

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