The cold dead woods in the fall seemed desolate, branches reaching out like horrible mutilated limbs against the gray of the mist and the silhouettes of a few remaining leaves. The mud was black and freezing from the constant drizzly precipitation. Moss covered the branches like a disease and the rocks resembled bodies in the dark, Giff could almost hear whispers. the sun shone gray death into the forest. Crows watched his actions from above. Again he looked at the mud and noticed a large amount of footprints, scattered and smudged about. As if many people were chasing after some thing.

"Like little kids, either that or a chicken, it's probably hard to catch a chicken, it even runs for a while after being decapitated."

Then, Gifford noticed something off more distant in the trees, a shred of paper.

Go look closer