Gary only brought one other t-shirt, no jacket, and was wearing cargo shorts. Dead leaves and pine needles crunched under his shoes, and he weaved his way through the trees. He remembered when he found the place—was only thirteen then—adventuring through the treacherous forest, on the search for exotic bugs he could throw into his plastic prison. He liked to shake the cage up, get the bugs excited, watch them tear each other apart. The bugs were even given cool names. Scorch the Scorpion was the champion until he finally died, taken out by Psycho Centipede. It was that day he stumbled upon the spot, and he could tell in his gut it was a special place. A feeling swirled within him, like the anticipation on Christmas morning, and he didn’t know why. He always imagined it had something to do with the huge rowan tree protruding from the earth right in the center of the clearing. Something about it seemed powerful, ancient. This place made him smile, and he kept returning, used it to clear his head, read comics, practice his gaming strategies, draw monsters and super heroes.
