I reached the tree as the mist was crowding in. I found the slab and pulled it away, dragging the box out into the wet grass.

I saw the lock was intact. I reached for the key under the leather tag round my ankle. Their thorough body search had failed to find it. The pouch was there, the stones still inside. I took them, pushing the box back into its hiding place.

I heard them coming for me.  I slid over the wall into the ditch, covering myself with earth and moss.

The mist covered me; my shroud, my escape.

(Thanks to Maggie Duncan for the beautiful photograph)

This is something new for me. I like the challenge of 100 words.