I shivered, wishing I’d thought to grab a jacket. The sun wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours, and the final days of April were no stranger to frost in the mountains. In fact, some May mornings were barely above freezing. I stood taller before glancing around for some kind of marker.

When I was younger, I’d spent hours with my dad hiking the trails of western North Carolina. His words came back to me, “Always leave a marker. That way you can get back to where you started. If there isn’t a natural marker, make one.”

I patted my pockets in vain for anything I could tie to a low branch. The only extra item I’d thought to bring pressed against the small of my back. I pushed the holster down a bit, making it snug, somewhat comforted when my fingers brushed against the metal of my pistol.

That was so unlike me.

I’d only ever used the weapon in shooting competitions, but something had tugged at me as I was leaving home. Maybe it was the uncertainty of what awaited me in Judaculla, but at the last moment, I’d retrieved the pistol from my gun safe. I hoped I wouldn’t need it.

I cast my eyes past the rose garden, and outward in every direction. Dense woods towered over the flowers’ quiet souls like black knights, keeping their beauty at bay. These impromptu guards formed a circle around the garden, daring the roses to leave their makeshift prison.

Nothing else stood out. There was no differentiation from one direction to another. When I looked back the way I’d come, I saw the path to my world was gone. Washed away like sands on the water’s edge. There was no turning back now.

I walked the circumference of the clearing, searching for the path that must lead into Judaculla. On my second walk around, I noticed several trails, their beginnings no more than a couple of inches wide. It was as if sand had spilled out from an hourglass, in the tiniest trickle.

On first glance, I didn’t see the paths; they were easily camouflaged by the debris of the forest floor. As I began noticing them, I saw that each was identical; there was no way of knowing if one was a better choice than the other. I decided taking any path would be more productive than just going around in circles. I committed to one and went deeper into the woods, turning back every few steps to put my eyes on the rose garden. It would have to serve as my marker, pointing me back home.