You carefully make your way down the mountainside in the predawn light and it is with a sigh of relief that you set foot on solid, flat ground once more. Here you stand on the edge of a meadow. The ground dips away forming a bowl filled with thick roiling mist, hiding much of it from your view. Tendrils of mist snake out as if to snare you and then coiling back into the main mass. It is almost as if you stand before a land made of cloud. To the North West you can make out what appears to be a forest of pine trees. Other than that and the mountain at your back you appear to be surrounded by the mist. You could dare the fog and venture into the valley, climb back up the mountain slope now that the light is better or follow the foot of the mountain along, hoping to find your way.