Rope.
That's the next step. Wasn't anything
I could make into anything useful on the first island. But the trees
here yield bark and leaves. Somehow, I'm going to turn that into
rope. Vague little thoughts of swinging down underneath this
floating rock, or slinging branches on lines out into the dimness to
see what's there fill my head. Maybe not the most useful idea, but
something to do.
Part of me wants to try fire, but
anything I burn isn't available for making things. It's not cold
here, but the light and warmth beyond what there is seems somehow
tempting.
Enough of temptation. I will figure
this place out, I will master it, make it my own. I will find the
lights and ride them to somewhere that makes sense, where piles of
stones are piles of stones, and not puzzles left by laughing trees to
mock me while I bleed.
I don't know how to make rope. Not the
slightest clue. It's got something to do with braiding, but I don't
really know what.
Still, there's nothing else to do. I
start gathering bark and leaves from the trees with the sharpest
tongues. Serves them right. They'll be the smartest ones, too, so
they'll make the best rope, I think.
Or maybe I've just been thinking too
much lately. Perhaps a nap.
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