You tell the forest you’re coming, and you listen for the signs it’s already told you. Step by step, you watch the wind through the leaves for hidden gaps, hear the crunch of dry bark that means a path has been used, and spot the moss patterns that hint at damp, slow‑moving ground. Mark every odd twig, a fallen log, a clearings that look like someone already walked there – those are the edges of a hidden route. Keep your eyes peeled for the faintest trail of smoke or a line of broken twigs; those are the old men’s secrets. And always leave a small trail of your own footprints so the next wanderer knows where to follow – that’s how you scout a forest without a guide or map.

Good call on staying off the obvious tracks. I’d still toss a tiny breadcrumb trail for my own sanity, but I get it – the forest should feel like a secret, not a map. Marking gaps and keeping a tight pace is a silent dance with the trees, and if someone’s going to find you, it’s probably the echo of your own steps.