Once the thick fog lifted, which left everything around me damp, Bijou and I went exploring. I selected a warm pair of gloves, a nice pair of boots, fur-lined, and about my size, only a size too big, and a thick pair of socks from a dresser full of socks.
We followed a narrow trail behind the cabin and now we're at an old, dead tree on the border between the grasslands and the beach. I swear the tree has a
hangman's rope ring
around a thick, dead branch. It gives me the creeps. The ocean waves are crashing against some rocks about a football field length from the Hangman's Tree.
I need to find a way back home. I miss Ma mere more, and more every day; and it hurts, especially at night, when it's quiet.
We'll follow the trail down to the coast and continue our search.