“I still can’t believe you drank the potion.” Gole mutters as she sits beside Trouse on the southernmost shores of the Great Ocean, and he smiles nervously at her, not nervous about her statement, but filled with unease at the thought of going in a boat across the dark, swirling ocean.

“I did that last week. You should be used to it by now. Anyways, you’re the one who taught me how to make the potion.” Trouse replies, glad to think of anything but the upcoming voyage.

“I know, but I didn’t think it’d turn hot pink. It’s the exact same color as Professor Poole’s lance, Trouse. The exact same color.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Maybe not for you, but now I can’t call him Pink Lance anymore, because then he’ll bring up your hair.”

“I’m glad I’ve solved a couple of problems then.”

“We food for you some!” Onewe calls to the two, before bursting into a fit of painful, racking coughs, and sitting down heavily.

The others sit around a small fire with a black metal pot hanging by a white wire rack in the center of the flame. They are all hunched down in an attempt to protect the small fire from the salty wind, and Onewe is greeted with concern by Thigi, who leans over and whispers something to Onewe as she seats herself beside Thigi.

“Alright, we’re coming!” Trouse calls and climbs onto Gole’s back.

“The fire is literally like twelve feet away, Trouse. You could walk.” Thigi scolds, looking up from her discussion with Onewe, and Gole snorts,

“I guess it’s easier to ride than walk when you’re so short.”

Gole races over the beach, sending white sand flying into the air, and stops suddenly before the ring of seagrass the others are sitting in. She springs into an empty seat beside Poole, sending a spray of white sand all over the others, and then proceeds to dump Trouse unceremoniously off her back. Trouse lands in the seagrass ring that encircles the group, and Poole glares at Gole.

“Real nice, Gole. I’m sure we all wanted sand in our stew,” he huffs in annoyance, while crouching over, trying to protect the small flame from the strong wind, and Seehea frowns.

“I certainly do not. We are lucky that we found what we did to put into our stew,” he says as he stirs the contents of a metal black pot hanging over the fire by a white, metallic rack, and Gutu sniffs the air ravenously,

“What are we eating?” he asks excitedly as the girl doub, who’s still tied to his back, kicks out at the nearby glishen.

“Sea grass stew with mouse chunks and black moss diffused in. Also, there’s now sand as seasoning thanks to Gole.” Poole replies flatly, repulsion evident in his voice. Trouse’s eyes light up.

“I’ve never eaten seagrass before. What does it taste like?”

“Like seagrass, Trouse. No one here has eaten seagrass before, as far as I know,” Gole sighs as Thigi fills a bowl with the hot pink liquid, and places it in front of Gole.

“Actually, Onewe has. She taught me how to cook this,” Seehea says, as Gole sniffs the fuzzy top layer of the soup, and eyes the black specks floating in it.

“Are you sure there’s meat in this? I don’t see anything but nasty weird stuff,” Gole asks, and Trouse points to a tiny light pink cube in Gole’s soup bowl.

“There’s some mouse meat.”

“Yes, there’s not much. It is only a mouse, Gole,” Thigi chides softly as she fills Trouse a bowl, and Gole frowns at Onewe.

“Why’s it hot pink? Everything seems to be hot pink lately.”

“The grass is dye turns whole pink. Its flesh fuzzy on soup top. Moss, it stop grass from being poisonous for us. Fine for horse though.” Thigi explains haltingly as she points over to where Erve is grazing on seagrass and passes a bowl to the glishen.

The glishen murmurs happily as it messily slurps the soup, and the girl doub scrunches up her nose in disgust as it offers some of the soup to her.

“I’ve never eaten a cooked mouse before. Only raw mice.” Trouse says cheerily as he slurps from his bowl, and Gole stops in the midst of lapping at her soup.

“Well, you’ve cured my appetite. More so than this soup has.”

“You eat birds raw all the time. I do not understand why this is so much worse.” Seehea protests as he accepts a bowl from Thigi, and Poole shakes his head,

“Don’t try to reason with her. It’s impossible.”

Gole glares at Poole, and Thigi jumps into the conversation before an argument begins.

“So, we’ll need a boat to get across the ocean. Any ideas where we’ll get it from?”

“I know of a nearby humor town to the northwest of us. They’re a coastal people.” Poole says as he looks up from his bowl of soup, and Onewe’s face pales.

She says nothing, and Gutu looks at her in concern,

“You look very sick. You should stay in Nearth. The boat ride would be very bad for you.”

“I fine,” Onewe says, waving Gutu off, and Gole rises,

“Well, I say we hurry up and get to this town. We’re not going to find the Strange Lands, but we might find some pretty strange lands regardless. If nothing else, we may find an island where the water is clear,” she says. Trouse purses his lips,

“You didn’t finish your soup,” he says as he drains the last of his soup, and Gole cringes,

“I’m not going to. That stuff is disgusting. I still don’t see why we couldn’t eat some of the food stores we brought with us instead.”

“Because we’ll need them on the ocean. No one knows how long the voyage will be,” Poole huffs, and rises to his feet.

He walks over to Erve as she grazes on seagrass and climbs up onto her saddle. Gole snatches Trouse onto her back before he can eat her soup as well, and Thigi climbs up behind him. Poole helps Seehea climb up behind him on Erve and pulls the glishen up as well. Thigi and Trouse together pull Onewe onto Gole’s back.

“Alright, let’s go. Come on, Gutu,” Thigi says, waving for the dog to follow along, and the three steeds trot down the beach.

Without another word, the group travels in the pale light of the cloudy day, going northwest, according to Gole’s sense of direction, passing through sloping grasslands, until they arrive in a calm humor town, where they are observed curiously, but not interfered with. From the town, the ocean is not visible. Only over a hill nearby the town, the ocean can be seen, glinting when rays of light break through the clouds. The humors stare at the travelers as they venture through the town, and Onewe visibly stiffens as her eyes meet with some of the other humors.

“The shop straight in front of us. It wooden with a white thin door,” Onewe instructs Gole quietly, and Trouse turns to look at her,

“Is this where you’re from?” he inquires, and Onewe nods faintly.

“Yes. People here cruel. Sold me into slavery because I have glishen blood in me.”

“Well, it sounds like we’ll just be taking that boat without paying,” Gole growls as she marches up to the white door of the shop, and Thigi tugs on Gole’s fur.

“Don’t you dare. The last thing we need is to be hunted by the humors!” She scolds, and Gole growls slightly.

The door of the shop opens, and a humor carrying a candle peers at the group suspiciously. His gaze falls on Onewe, and he scowls. He barks in a strange language at the group, which Onewe haltingly replies in, and Poole sits up.

“They’re conversing in Hu. The humor man will want some oddity for his boat, I reckon.” he explains, and Onewe looks to Seehea,

“Do have strange item to trade?” She inquires hopefully, and Seehea digs around in Erve’s saddlebag.

He pulls out Trouse’s gauntlets, and stares at them,

“Where did we find these?” he asks, and Trouse sheepishly raises his hand,

“Those are mine,” he admits, and Gutu chuckles,

“First your hair turns pink in the middle of the night, and then you have strange gauntlets appear. You are a funny doub, I like you!”

“Yes, it is rather odd…” Poole says as he studies Trouse strangely, and Seehea accidentally knocks the toy dog he had given to the glishen out of the glishen’s hands.

It falls to the ground, and barks happily. The humor man points to it and speaks to Onewe. Onewe looks at Seehea as he slides off the horse to retrieve the toy for the glishen, and says,

“He want the toy.”

“The toy belongs to the glishen. He can take something else. Like maybe this girl doub, since we have nothing to do with her. If we release her, she will call the dogs on us. Maybe she can be his servant, like you were for that lady.”

Onewe coughs painfully, and shakes her head,

“No one deserves be as slave. Something different.”

“Can’t we just take the boat? I don’t feel any pity for these humors here,” Gole asks, and the humor man speaks crossly to Onewe.

“He want the toy or we get no boat.” she translates, and Seehea frowns.

“We can build our own boat then,” he retorts, and Poole shakes his head,

“There’s no time. Our freshwater supply is beginning to run low as is. We need to get the water purified as soon as possible,” he argues, and the humor man begins to shut his door.

“Wait! We’ll do it!” Trouse squeals, and the man opens the door back.

He questions Onewe, and she hesitantly reports what Trouse had said. Snorting, the man marches out of the house, and snatches the toy from the glishen. The glishen bursts into tears, and the humor man sneers at him. He speaks to Onewe in the language once more, and Onewe translates,

“He give a boat.”