Silence. Not even the whisper of a breeze. The air around him was laced with mist, the ground dark grey bedrock mottled with muddy green moss and sedges. He took a few steps, turned slowly, staring into the murky half-light, hoping to catch a glimpse of something recognisable. Somehow he’d wandered off the narrow path three hours previously. Whichever direction he headed the landscape never changed; the lava field stretching monotonously and endlessly. He knew panicking wouldn’t help, but nonetheless felt sick and jittery. He rubbed his arms, seeking warmth, muttered a short pray, and set off into the mist.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.