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.
Ash asked too: “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.”
Wren asked again: “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.”
Wren asked again: “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.”
Requested Now part of the world
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.
What the inhabitants were toldWren, 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.