When he opened them again, he was jogging down a country road.
It was a good, straight road, lined on both sides by ranks of birch trees. The pavement was damp and just springy enough to give his steps a little bounce.
The air was cool, but not cold, with the smell of rain recently fallen. The rays of the early morning sun shimmered through the birch leaves overhead, mingling with the faint mist that lingered over the ferns. A stream trickled alongside the roadbed, dancing with gnats and skimmers.
Cary combed his fingers through the blond racing-stripes in his red hair. He smiled and breathed deep. He couldn't quite guess where exactly he was, but it didn't matter.
He felt happy.
He continued to trot along, sneakers smacking the pavement, and just took it all in. It reminded him
