As Kimber made his way through the undergrowth once more, he could hear the sounds of trucks and agitated men coming from the road he had left minutes before. The mustache man and his friends, no doubt. His eyes fixed on the waving light in the distance, Kimber pressed forward.
After a while, he noticed the light wasn't getting any bigger. "Surely I am making egress, he muttered. Then why isn't the light getting bigger?"
The rational part of his brain quickly answered that such a thing would be possible only if he were walking towards a light so distant that the half-mile he had already walked was insignificant (as if he was walking towards the sun, for instance.). Or that the light was moving away from him at a similar speed.
And true enough, the light was moving. Kimber found that it shifted direction from time to time.
Anguish welled-up with this realization. Was he following a deadly will-o'-the-wisp, intent on drowning him in a bog, or some dangerous individual with a torch, trekking through the woods with murder in mind? Or perhaps the infamous Sasquatch itself, out looking for lunch?