Extend the Story - Add a Room

You wish you had some water, both to drink and to splash your face. It would wake you up, and you really are quite thirsty. Still, the night is clear and pleasant, and you can see the stars.

You head off in the direction you believe you came from. It's not the most pleasant of night walks, and you're having difficulty seeing the ground beneath your feet. But you know at least that you are headed southeast, and that for now is what matters.

The thought comes on you chillingly. What if you misread the stars, misread your own direction of travel? Finding settlements is hard enough, even if you know where they should be and in what direction you travel. Go too far, and you might never again meet decent people, might die on some godforsaken stretch of forest or field never touched by French settlers.

And from the stories you've heard, just because there were Francophone settlements wouldn't mean you'd be safe. They said some of the older trappers lost sense of themselves, became more brutal than any of the natives ever had been. You shudder slightly, reminding yourself more with each moment how many things just might lurk in the forest, and just how far you might be from home.

You lengthen your stride a bit, speeding up as much as you dare in the dark. You break into a jog for a moment, but slow when you notice that the land is sloping slowly downward. You don't want to fall, and there might be water down below. A deer path leads down the embankment--for you assume it is probably a riverbank--but diverts off of your direction of travel. There might be water down there, but you have no way of knowing how far it might be.

Continue to the southeast, staying on your original path.