It has been a considerable length of time since I set out for the town of Rooster’s Edge. The sun rose and then set a number of times, but being that it is midway through the Thick Air Season, I could not see it and cannot tell you what that exact number is.
The journey was made more taxing still by the fact that no road connects Tremsil and Rooster’s Edge. I am going based solely on the directions of one of Tremsil’s fine residents who claimed to have a detailed map in his mind. He told me to go East for however long it took to get there (he couldn’t measure days either) and that is what I am attempting to do. I really hope he was correct when he told me which way East was. I have never trusted compasses and for this reason, I don’t own one.
The air was exceptionally thick, even for the season that it was, but for much of my trek, I could vaguely see a figure in the distance. Conveniently, I could walk toward this figure without having to change my direction. If it was not directly East, I would probably have lost track of where East was.
Less conveniently, I learned that feral donkeys do not like being ridden. Thrumplestance was willing to carry my supplies and I was willing to settle for that.
It occurs to me just now that you might not be from this reason and therefore are unfamiliar with thick air. It may sound like humidity, but it is just the opposite. Thick air is thick, not with moisture, but with unmoisture. It is not dryness, for dryness is the lack of something and unmoisture is a something in itself. It is breathable, but only slowly and with much effort.
After another, not quite as considerable length of time, I came across this bench. The vague figure is now close enough that I can imagine reaching it soon. Not right now though. This bench is the closest thing to a bed that I’ve seen in what I think are days. Time to rest.
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