Far from home

When Robert awoke, he didn't recognize his surroundings. Not usually surprising after a night of drinking, but he didn't recognize them whatsoever. Never in his life, had he been here before.

He was in a copse of trees, tall and sturdy. They stood alone in a great plain of grass, not a hint of civilization on either side of the horizon. There was a pile of sticks on the floor next to him, like a failed campfire. His mostly undamaged adventuring pack was on the floor as well, packed to the brim--overflowing, really.

Furrowing his brows with a frown, Robert stood, looking around for anything else to explain his predicament. Faintly, he could see horseshoe prints in the dirt, leading to and from his spot.

Horror dawned on Robert.

Had he, in his inebriated state last night, packed his bag and gotten a ride out of town to quell The Darkness? Without any real preparation? He didn't even know where he was! He was so fucked!