AUTUMN, 1605

Late 1605. Location unknown.

Six ships left England together for the New World. This morning we woke to find ours stranded on the rocks. No sign of the other ships.

This is not the shore the maps foretold. It is cold and unwelcoming. The treeline rises behind it, massive and dark, the canopy sealing the sky.

The mist moves unnaturally through the rocks along the beach. Sometimes it is almost as though we see hollow faces, appearing and gone.

Something stands in the cover of the trees. Antlered. Motionless. It has been watching us since we arrived.

NO ONE WANTS TO LEAVE THE SHIP,

BUT WE KNOW WE WILL HAVE TO.