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The forest extends for roughly a kilometer around the kettle cottage you suppose you can call home. The trees vary between maple and oak, with the occasional pine thrown in for good measure. The grass upon the hill gives way to the woodlands after a thirty or maybe forty meters, where the tree branches block out direct light from the painted sun and choke out the other plants.
You spend the morning getting to know it quite well.
The white smock you used to preserve your modesty gets left behind when you shift into the sleek form of a burnt red fox. It seems that your clothes will not meld into your new form. Perhaps some magic exists to help them meld with the rest of your body when you transform. Here and now, though, the white smock gets left piled atop your head, and you have a small adventure escaping from its grasp before you even head for the forest.
Slipping out the cottage door, you let your instincts guide you on your excursion through the forest. You don't need to think as a fox, your body knows everything it needs to do without wasting any time or energy thinking it through. Your mind wanders as you roam, seeking the scent of prey and avoiding the scent of predator. Thoughts percolate inside your head, speculating on the answers to the questions which have been bothering you since last night.
<span class="mu-s">Who painted the murals of mountains at the border of woodlands?</span> You cannot tell, but closer inspection shows their skill to be modest, or perhaps deliberately stylized as an obvious fake - just like the sun and clouds over head.
<span class="mu-s">Why did they paint them?</span> You cannot know for sure, but you can speculate. At first glance, they make the dome look larger than it is, so perhaps that illusion of depth is the reason. To keep the inhabitants and creatures from developing claustrophobia.
<span class="mu-s">How and why was this dome created?</span> Your understanding of rock formations is mostly practical, but you can recognize the touch of magic where you see it. You don't need to cast any spells to know that this place was shaped with one. Perhaps it is meant to be some witch or wizard's private abode.
As for <span class="mu-s">what is money</span> and <span class="mu-s">why would anyone want to be tied up</span>, your mind cannot think of an answer for the former. The latter is embarrassing to contemplate, but it invades your thoughts like a weed in the garden. Perhaps with a more artful attempt at ropework than what you escaped from, you could enjoy that sort of situation.
But it's way too embarrassing to put to words.
Way, <span class="mu-i">way</span> too embarrassing. Even if your mind can no longer escape the images of your reflection in the mirror trussed up and tied like a luscious cut of meat. Your best attributes emphasized by the bindings of the ropes, pushed up and out with even more pride than they normally manage without any support. Something rough and scratchy rubbing between your legs in the most oddly satisfying way.
It takes a tremendous amount of willpower for you to banish such thoughts.
