The world has ended, yet it goes on. It always does, somehow, somewhere. Your world, as far as you can tell, is a path.
A path forward if you want to be philosophical about it.
An old, overgrown road if you're being practical.
You can still see the cobble stone between the vines, the grass, the brambles, the roots. They afford you an opening to move easier in the thicket of these woods. Or they do for Neef, your beast. It uses the space to build up the speed it usually couldn't in these deep woods, and you cling to the saddle as it gallops along the road.
This street. This proof of power from a people long gone.
For they pathed their way through the deep, dark forest, and even generations after their doom, it still remains. You can hear their echo. Hoofed creatures pulling wagons full of wares, of stories, ironbound wheels clattering over the stark cobbled rock. People's voices speak, laughing, threatening, desperate and hopeful, but you can't understand their words.
The echo vanishes and leaves you and Neef, and you find that your beast has stopped. It stands with all four paws planted firmly on the street, it's head tilted to the side in a way you know means it is trying to look at you. Listen for you.
You must have been away, for a moment. Neef noticed, as it usually does. You lift your hand away from the saddle to give Neef a wave where it can see. It huffs hot breath out of it's nostrils and let's you pet it's neck for a while before it starts moving again. Slower, this time, putting its paws in front of each other with more care.
You are on a kind of graveyard, here. The noise, just like the street, is a footprint in the sand. The waves of time just haven't been able to quite remove it yet.
~~~
Night comes early in the woods. The trees stand tall, the underbrush is wild. They give the sun a hard time setting warmly.
You could push on; Neef is a powerful beast and doesn’t tire as quickly as you. You have spent more than one night tied to the saddle, with Neef moving on at its leisure and you sleeping safely on its back. It can see in the dark, and it enjoys the sounds and smells of the night.
You could also make camp. Start a little fire and spend the night curled up to Neef's warm, soft, furry side, dreaming of the vein of a world past that once pumped through these woods.
The blackberries are sweet, here. Neef could be convinced by this alone.
What do you say, traveler?
[Make camp]
[Go on]
