I do not understand many things.

I do not understand why paradise is a place that we must go to.

- Why is every place not simply paradise? Would that not make more sense?

I do not understand why the not-birds were so intent on finding my friend, back across on the east side of the great-water.

- Is she a creature of particular concern? Or was the hunt of the not-birds more indiscriminate? Were we simply always caught up in its midst through sheer happenstance?

I do not understand why I am a sunflower.

- Perhaps there is simply nothing better to be?

This seems like a reasonable assumption.

We have left the waters of the river and have continued our journey through the wet-wood for a day and for a night longer.

My friend grows more powerful, as do I.

- [Sunflower] -

You bask in the light of the sun

+ 1 EXP

EXP: 148/240 EXP (Burch): 26/55

Soon.

Many bones line the edge of the water, lingering in the loose silt and mud of the embankment.

My friend has hungered for the flesh of fish, but it seems that this is an inopportune place to grow hungry.

There are many other hungry things in the wet-forest, apparently.

- And in the water.

She looks around the area and then, we continue to follow the river, making sure to keep a wide distance from it.

However, we have seemed to identify a larger problem.

- The river obstructs us.

If we wish to follow the sun, towards the west, then the south-flowing water hinders us. Crossing it would be most unwise, as evidenced by the strong flow of the deep-current and by the bones on the shore.

So, instead, we walk against its flow in the hopes that we might find safe passage across the muddy waters.

Or not. I suppose that I don’t care, really. There is ample sunlight and water here as well.

However, the soil is too wet for me to do well in. My roots do not like this soggy, over-saturated dirt that squelches with every step that she takes.

- Perhaps I should rethink my indifference? After all, there is so much more of the world to see.

A large shadow follows us, swimming against the river in our direction, hidden beneath its brackish surface.

What an interesting sight.

Wow.

We camp.

Burch reads her book and lifts her upper-legs, attached to her torso, every now and then.

I do not know what she is doing. But every time she does so, she seems to be sad afterwards and then returns to the book, before trying again a short time later.

How odd.

- Why would you repeat this pattern if it makes you unwell?

What a strange creature she is.

I grow tired of the wet-forest.

I never knew that forests could be so big and so wet. It is mind boggling.

Thankfully, the end of it is in sight.

My friend, Burch, and I stand on the bank of the river, looking across the waters. They flow down in the direction that we have journeyed from. A series of stepping stones, of sleek rocks, bridges the gap from here to the other side of the river, for any brave enough to try jumping across them.

- However, slipping would indeed be most unfortunate. Perhaps it would simply be for the best that we do not slip?

Although, perhaps it would be for the best if we simply do not try to cross here at all?

Nature is bewildering, when one considers the magnificence of its many spectacles. Across the water, towards the west, a most beautiful sun shines down upon the world, upon us. It is as if it were enticing us to try; to live a little.

- After all, what else could life be for?

Ah.

What a fool I am.

Of course, my friend can not be a bird, or else we would have flown across the river. I have identified this weakness once before.

- Yet I made the same mistake anew.

How silly.

Perhaps it is time that I now let her make a mistake? Even if it would mean the end of our adventure.

But what an end it would be.

Amazing.

There are so many ways to die.

I am awed.

She sighs, her shoulders drooping and she turns towards the right, following the shore further as before, instead of bravely attempting to cross here and now, even if we are so close to the way that leads towards paradise.

- Blind luck? Or did she know through sheer instinct?

I can not say.

As my friend travels along the embankment, wisely passing up on this opportunity to ford the river here and now, I turn back and watch as the stepping stones, the rocks, slowly rise up from the murk. A great maw, belonging to a most hideous, gigantic creature, which resides in the water, emerges.

- They were teeth, old and flattened from years of prosperous hunting, not stepping stones.

Many fools have fallen for that trick. That is why there are bones down the river.

But my friend has strong instincts.

And perhaps that is what one needs, if one is to survive the journey to where the sun rests.

We live another day.

I am calmly thrilled.

Another day has passed and only very little sunshine has found us, which makes me most sad. The wet-forest is thick and damp.

Yet, our journey is strangely peaceful, without the not-birds on our heels. It is most serene.

But as the day comes to a close, we finally find what we seek.

- A crossing.

It reminds me of the houses. It is built like they were, a construct of wooden bones. It hangs across the river, like a fallen tree and she steps onto it, testing its wood with her foot.

It seems sturdy.

Deciding to take this chance, my friend crosses the river and I look around, wondering, how could something like this have been made? Her ilk really are most industrious creatures.

As we leave, I gaze back towards the murky river, hoping to see the giant shadow of the water-hunter once more.

But there is nothing there to see.

Wow.

I never knew that there could be such mysterious things in the world.

We leave the wet-forest, entering into a new place on the other side.

Here, the grass is well-trodden, a path carved from the steps of many feet, moves through the soil.

We follow it, walking in the collective footsteps of many others before ourselves. I wonder if they too were on the way to paradise?

We camp.

Burch sits and reads her book and then follows her new routine, for which I do not care much.

I miss the quiet nights.

For the fifth time tonight, my friend lifts her upper-legs, which are just below her shoulders and neck and holds them out towards the darkness.

(Burch) used: [Minor Pulse]

A word-wood has appeared.

But not much happens, honestly.

I feel a small sensation run through the world. A ripple moves through the damp soil and it disturbs my roots. It disturbs the thousand things that crawl beneath her feet.

But, despite the lack of impressive results, Burch seems very happy because of what has occurred and she makes a series of noises and movements akin to those of a mouse.

- Most frightening.

I do not understand it, but perhaps, like so many things, it is simply not for me to understand?

I am just an overly moist sunflower, after all.

- Something crawls through my roots. It tickles.

A most unusual oddity.

Burch and I stand hidden, as always and we look out ahead of ourselves.

There, off in the distance, smoke rises.

There, off in the distance, are houses.

And, dare I say it, many of her kind.

There are very many.

I never knew that there could be so many of her ilk in one place.

Amazing.

Are they not solitary creatures? From what I have seen of them, they always live alone, they always travel alone. Yet, there, before us, close to the horizon are a hundred and then some houses, nested together like a hive.

I wonder, what will she do?