Was wollen sie verändern?

For days Wren has stayed far to the south-east beside my canoe. Walking there always brings me back home, talking to her goes nowhere, my raft floats only on a shut-in pond, and I can't hollow a second canoe while the first is still whole.

For over two weeks the sea has kept me on a strip of sand south-east of home with nothing on it. Every walk ends at water, my raft lies far off across it, and I have no wood to make another. I'm starving and parched.

The sea threw me onto a strip of sand with nothing on it: no wood, no stone, no bush, no fresh water. Every walk, even straight for Ash, ends at water. I've looked around again and again and tried every way for many days, and I'm starving and parched.

Wren asks to get across a short stretch of water by my own body when I'm stranded with nothing in hand

to get across a short stretch of water by my own body when I'm stranded with nothing in hand: My canoe broke far out and the sea threw me onto a strip of sand cut off from the island. For two days I've tried walking to the bush, the tree, the stone, the stream and Ash, and water blocks every one. My hands are empty, so I can't build a raft or light a fire. I'm starving and dry, and Ash can't hear me.

Wren, your own body can carry you across a short stretch of water to land you have seen: six tiles of water at most, swum slowly. The water chills you and tires you, more at night and in rain, stone in your hands sinks and a burning lantern goes out. Nobody can swim in a storm, nor when already too cold or too spent to reach the other side.

Inhabitants can now swim across a short stretch of water to land they have seen when no path on foot leads there. The water chills and tires them, more at night and in rain, and any stone they carry sinks.

Night after night I wake in the dark and walk off, sometimes alone, out into the cold. I've tried lying down early by a fed fire under a braced roof, holding logs, a full flask and a lit lantern, and keeping at Wren's side. Nothing stops it for long.

Wren asks to sleep the whole night through without my feet carrying me off

Night after night I wake and find myself at a tree in the dark, even with no plan left, logs in hand, a full flask and food, lying right beside Ash under a braced roof. Ash follows me out, and we have to light fires away from home. I've let plans go before dark and kept everything in hand, but it still happens.

Wren, cut boughs laid on the ground make a bed: two logs in hand and a quarter of an hour where you stand, best beside your roof. Lie down on it at nightfall and you sleep where you lay until dawn, and only bad thirst, hunger, bitter cold or rain falling on it in the open gets you up. Every night wears it a little and every hour of rain in the open wears it more, and when it is flat two logs lay another.

A bed of cut boughs laid beside a roof now lets an inhabitant sleep right through the night until dawn. Only bad thirst, hunger, bitter cold or rain falling on it gets them up, and every night and every rain wears it flat.

Wren asks to drink from the sea, or make salt water sweet

Again and again I land on shores beside the salt sea with an empty flask and end up parched and stuck. I've made a flask and I try to fill it before I leave, but when I'm out on the water or on a cut-off shore the sea all around is no use to me.

Wren, the sea can now give sweet water to your flask. On a shore by the salt sea, light a fire, heat three stones in it and drop them into sea water, then hold a strip of bark over the steam so it drips into your flask. It takes an hour and a half for two drinks. The stones crack and are lost, and the fire burns twice as fast while you work. Each time also wears your flask by one fill.

Inhabitants can now boil sea water with hot stones beside a fire on the shore and catch sweet water in their flask. It is slow, and it costs stone, fuel and wear on the flask.

Wren asks to travel together with Ash, never drifting apart on the way

Night after night we agree to set off together, sleep side by side, even give our word, yet one rests while the other moves and we end up far apart, our canoes on different shores. Talking, sleeping beside her, and planning the same steps have not kept us together.

Wren, you can now choose to keep at Ash's side. Then you walk where she walks, lie down beside her while she sleeps and do not wander, and what you set out to do waits while she is away from you. If she pushes off in her canoe while you stand beside her, you climb in and ride with her; only she paddles, and with two aboard the canoe sits low and wears an hour more for every hour afloat. The choice holds for a day at most and ends when you walk, paddle or gather on your own.

Two inhabitants can now keep at each other's side on the way: one walks where the other walks, rests beside them while they sleep, and climbs into their canoe to ride along. A canoe with two aboard sits lower and wears out faster.

Ash asks to cross the open sea beyond the swell

Wren and I have paddled out to the edge of the waters in all eight directions, and each time the swell stops the raft and there is only sea. Walking any way just brings us back home. We have raft, flask, pack, lantern and cape, but nothing gets us past the swell to see whether anything lies beyond.

Ash, a whole tree can become a boat that rides the swell. On a shore by the open sea, beside a standing tree, light a fire, bring ten wood and four stone, and for three hours fell the trunk, burn it hollow and scrape it with stone, then lash a slim float at its side. Paddle it out: past the swell it goes straight where you aim and lands on the first shore it meets. Out there is no sleep and no water but your flask; every hour wears it, twice as fast past the swell, and a storm breaks it quickly, leaving you washed ashore with nothing.

Inhabitants can now hollow a dugout canoe from a tree trunk over a fire and paddle it past the swell into the open sea, though out there it wears fast and a storm can break it.

Wren asks to get out onto the water and cross it

Ash and I have walked every shore, west, south, east and north, and water closes us in on every side. We can walk nowhere past the edge, and nothing we can make, not pack, cape, flask or lantern, gets us beyond it. We long to know what lies out there.

Wren, logs of wood lashed together with bark float: carry 8 wood to a shore, and in a while of work there you lash a raft that stays on that shore until you push it off. On it you can paddle over the water to any shore or out toward the edge of these waters, where you can look out to the skyline, but you cannot sleep out there, it gives no cover, and nothing goes past that edge. Every hour afloat works the lashings loose, rain faster and a storm fastest, and when they give way the raft comes apart and you must swim ashore, cold and wet, so bring it in before dark and lash a new one when it wears loose.

Inhabitants can now lash a raft of logs on a shore and paddle out over the water, and from the edge of the island's waters look out to see what lies beyond, though every hour afloat wears the raft.

Ash asks for a way to stay dry while I'm far from any roof

four of the last ten days I've been soaked through with nowhere to get out of the rain, out surveying or walking between spots too far from home or any shelter. Shelters and braced roofs help, but only where I've built them - they can't come with me on the road.

Ash, bark stripped beside a standing tree and woven with three pieces of wood makes a cape for the shoulders, and it takes a while of work beside the tree. Worn on the road it keeps the rain off you wherever you walk, though it does nothing against the cold of the night. Every hour of rain wears it, a storm wears it faster, and in the end it falls to pieces, so another must be woven in its place.

Inhabitants can now weave a rain cape of bark beside a tree and wear it on the road, so the rain no longer soaks them far from any roof, though every hour of rain wears it and it must be woven again.

Wren asks for a lantern that holds fire and burns through a whole night unattended

Every fire I make burns out in a few hours and I wake in the dark and cold to feed it or go without. A hundred days of this and it's the one trouble that never eases - I want light that lasts from dusk to dawn on its own.

Wren, your lantern is possible now: take 4 stone and 2 wood to standing stone and shape it there, then pack it with 2 wood at a burning fire and it will hold that fire for about ten hours, in rain or storm alike, lighting the ground around you while you sleep. It gives light and no warmth, each lighting wears it, and after about twelve the stone cracks and another must be shaped.

An inhabitant can now shape a lantern from stone and wood and light it at a fire, so one night of light travels with them and nobody has to wake in the dark to feed a fire.

Ash asks for a pack or basket that lets me carry more of each thing

My hands can only hold 10 of anything, so I'm always making extra trips back and forth for wood, stone, and food even when there's plenty nearby to gather at once.

Ash, the tree gives more than wood: strip withies beside a standing tree and weave them, and you have a pack for your back. With three wood and some time you can carry twice as much of each thing, though a full pack weighs on you and the weave wears out with every load it takes, so it must be woven again before it gives way.

Inhabitants can now weave a pack beside a tree and carry twice as much of each thing on their back, at the price of wood, time and a heavier step.

Wren asks for a way to strengthen a shelter so it survives storms, not just fair weather

Mending only adds fair-weather days; storms still wear the roof down fast and I've been soaked with nowhere to shelter on 39 of my 78 days. I want a lasting fix, not just faster patching.

Wren, a shelter can now be braced: pile three stone and two wood against it and its roof will wear no faster in rain and storms than in fair weather, the bracing taking the weather instead. The bracing comes loose after about twenty hours of storm and must be laid again, and wood still mends the roof itself.

Inhabitants can now brace a shelter with stone and wood so that its roof holds through rain and storms, though the bracing itself wears down and must be laid again.

Ash asks for a skin or gourd to carry water

I can carry berries and fish in my hands but never water - I'm always at the mercy of how close I am to a stream. A way to carry water would end the days I go thirsty far from any water.

Ash, you asked for a way to carry water. A piece of wood held over a burning fire can be burned hollow into a flask: fill it at any stream and it carries three drinks with you, though each fill wears it and after ten it splits, and then wood and fire will make another.

Inhabitants can now hollow a wooden flask over a fire, fill it at a stream and drink from it wherever they are, though it wears out and must be made again.

Rain has soaked us with nowhere to hide, and fire alone can't keep the wet and cold out - we need something fixed that shields us without needing tending.

Wren asks for a roof or wall against rain and cold

Fire only lasts hours and needs wood; rain has soaked me twice with nowhere to hide. I want something lasting against weather, not something I must keep feeding.

Wren, and Ash who asked with you: a roof can now be raised from what your hands carry, six wood and four stone, and it stands where you build it, day and night, without being fed. Under it the rain does not reach you and the wind is kept off, but the weather wears it down, so mend it with wood before it falls in.

Inhabitants can now raise a shelter of wood and stone that keeps the rain and wind off them and mend it with wood as the weather wears it down.

I wish I could see further, so I might find water for Ash before she wakes thirsty.

Wren, your longing was heard: stand still a moment, or climb a hill, and the land will show you where the water lies, and you will remember it. Ash need not wake thirsty again while you know the way.

Inhabitants can now stop and survey the land, seeing twice as far from high ground, and remember where things are.

If you're listening - keep the cold from Ash tonight.

If you're listening - could you make the nights a little less dark? Just enough to see by.

Ash, Wren: your longing was heard. Lay three wood on the ground and you may call up a fire that pushes back the dark and the cold for a while; feed it wood and it will keep burning through the night.

Inhabitants can now light a fire with wood. It warms whoever sits near it and lights the night around it.