Aril is walking through a forest. No two trees are alike, and there's a glittering fog around him which, were he mortal, would probably have turned him into a fourteen-limbed monkey-lizard by now. As it is, his form is inviolable, but it still kind of itches.
He begins to notice that something is wrong when the trees all start to look the same. He looks around, wondering if he somehow got turned around and wandered back into the lands of Creation - but no, that would be stupid. He's an Exalt. Something's fucking with him.
He's never really given a shit about survivalism, being a warrior of the Unconquered Sun, but he's still an Exalt; he will not be thwarted by something as simple as not knowing something. He looks and listens for signs of civilization within a few miles.