It is a small lump, but feels warm.
The walk back up the path is uneventful, the stones are starting to fade into normal gravel and rocks, the path to not much more than a normal winding trail. Birds sing in the branches of the pine trees, and the sound of water dripping and flowing provides a counterpoint harmony as the unending Winter fades and Spring returns to this pocket of the dreaming.
As they path the fork to the paths not taken, there is a soft hiss from the middle path, and numerous - oh, so many more than two! - eyes blink balefully at them, glowing from the darkness under the forested path. They pick up their pace, and leave whatever THAT was behind!