Search for the Sunlight

It was drizzling when they approached the big iron gate in the fence. Sherlock loosened the bottom two buttons of his jacket and reached inside for his keys. Fumbling through the bunch, he located the one marked ‘Desert’ and inserted it into the rusty lock. At first it wouldn’t budge, but gripping it with vice-like strength in both hands, he applied serious force until, with a heavy CLUNK, the lock tumblers tripped and the gate creaked open on rusty hinges, inviting anyone who dared to step across the threshold into the eerie, silent world on the other side.

In the poor light, the travellers could barely make out the shapes of broken stumps and jagged tree trunks, all of which must once have been a part of the great forest, a forest that was diminishing at an alarming rate as the legendary Peckwoods - giant prehistoric winged creatures - who ruled the desert sky, fed relentlessly on the ancient vegetation.

How ironic, Sherlock thought. He had spent most of his working life policing the outer extremities of the forest, arresting wayward Treewoods and lecturing them sternly on the dangers they faced should they venture beyond the safety of the perimeter fence and now, here he was breaking these very rules himself. He shivered as he took his keys from the lock and stepped boldly across the threshold into the forbidden territory beyond.