He stepped, and found himself on the hillside. It sloped down, down to the crashing surf, harsh waves breaking against the rocky beach. It was less than twilight, in that the storm blackened the sky to ink, yet there was light to see. To his right the land curved gently around the bay, dunes stretching away into the dark. Leftwards led toward the mountains, and the factory. Lights winked even at this hour. Behind him was the forest. Its branches offered a small respite from the light drizzle, but he hadn't entered that shelter in a long time. The wind keened off the beach and up the hill, cutting through his t-shirt and jeans, the grass rustling with its own low noise, at once soothing and sibilant. Raindrops marked his gray shirt, and he stood to watch the lightning play in the distance, across the sea. His bare feet found a patch of sand, and his toes dug into the still-warm sand. Something troubled him, a feeling hard to put words to, even for him. And that in itself was cause for worry. He'd go down the dark spiral again, and the cycle of sleep and dream would begin all over. A frown creased his face as he considered. Thoughts fluttered in his mind, but none stayed to offer comfort. Nothing would help, could help. Well. There was one thing, he thought. But the chances were too remote to offer the hope he wanted, needed. And so he quietly gave up on that memory.. thought.. wish.