I am groping feverishly for some sense of location. Light shimmers in to see the myriad roads and twisting walkways. Crossing, turning, circling. Sharp, dull rocks and gravel seem to make a winding city of stone. Taking a promising path I find myself back where I began.
Roads vanish to reveal the vast interior of a cave.
The distant sound of a drop of water dropping into a distant puddle sounds like the crash of thunder. Turning, struggling to discern the source of the sound. The drops seem to fall gently yet loudly and reverberate all around me. I walk and my footsteps, as if to accompany the song of water, rhythmically sound again and again. Puddles rise up and dissipate into a thick oppressive fog.