The smell of gratitude

Albert Gulladaw was anxious.
Nobody ever found their way out of Stombley woods.
Or lived to tell what was in there.

He now knew:

  • Trees.
  • Human remains
  • And the odd badger.

Oh yeah -I nearly forgot; mist. A thick disorientating mist.

Albert had wandered off the trail to take a dump, and was so taken with the joy of dropping his load he staggered into the trees.

Three days of blindly stumbling followed, before exhaustion forced him to sleep.

It hit him when he woke.
The unmistakable smell of shite.
Albert smiled to himself, and gave thanks for his stink.