The very first thing Symeon did after getting Istroama underway was seize a sturdy branch, one relatively straight and strong, and break it in half. One half was driven into the earth to point skyward, while the other was carefully laid to match the shadow of the first. Symeon had had quite enough of the apparently unmoving sun, and with this primitive sundial he planned to get some answers.

After that, Symeon had a very simple agenda for survival. He intended to build a basic A-frame from the wood Istroama was gathering, as well as a controlled fire of some description. Beyond that, he wanted to see if he could exploit the crystal basin to boil water in, and he was going to forage for edibles as he went. He had a direction in mind: the goals of acquiring water and food would likely be greatly advanced by getting access to the river.

With that in mind he spent a fair amount of time exploring the treeline, seeking gaps and animal trails, examining the various plants for anything useful. To his delight, individual plants yielded detailed information regarding their nature under his extended attention, though the experience sometimes threatened to pull him into a fugue state.

The forest was dominated by specific species of trees, briars, and ferns. Most immediately were the extensive briars, thorny vines winding in the sunlight along the inland treeline. They were ripe with firm fruit, yellow in hue, each roughly the size of his thumb. In his mind was an array of useful facts regarding them: edible, faintly luminescent at night, apparently ‘rejuvenating’ as well, though the seeds were a moderately toxic irritant. Aymeon wasn’t clear what rejuvenating actually meant in relation to the fruit, but frankly the description had him at edible. He gathered enough of the fruit to fill his wooden box while pondering the detail that the briars were apparently dubbed ‘Unnamed Plant’, much to Symeon’s bemusement.

Regardless of local vegetitive anonymity, Symeon was confident that a small section of the briars could be cleared without impacting his foraging. With that in mind, he had returned his cargo of nameless edibles to the safety of the basin, and ventured forth once more, this time with the long lid in tow. Said lid was soon stood on end in his grip as he paused before the dense foliage. The trees in the area were primarily tall and thin, blooming great clusters of broad leaves up high in a verdant effort to horde the sunlight. His well of knowledge told him these were ‘Lasle trees’; a light, waxy wood that grew buoyant nuts in temperate climes. Oddly, the roots of these trees were massive knots bunched up on one side, causing the trees to notably tilt at an angle. Some of the briars had grown a small ways up the trunks of the Lasle trees, but the results were unhealthy and stunted in the encompassing shadows.

Symeon felt he was missing some details, but couldn’t put his finger on the problem. Regardless, getting water wasn’t going to be served by being on the wrong side of the brambles. Thus, he gave the lid a firm shove, causing it to crash down onto the briar. The lid itself was too light to do much damage, so he stepped onto it and bounced on his heels a few times to a series of satisfying crunches. Then, he stepped back out of the bush and pulled the lid behind him. The underbrush had been crushed to a satisfactory degree by his weight, leaving a gap in the briar. Several more repetitions of this action carved something of a path to the area deeper in the treeline.

What Symeon found past the brambles was a forest floor with rich, dark soil. He scanned the area out of an abundance of caution, but didn’t come up with anything he hadn’t already learned before. ‘Ostrich ferns’ that he had previously only barely glimpsed over the briar were in abundance, with huge fronds curtaining the forest floor in green. Past them was a tantalizing glimpse of open space and the sound of splashing water.

Tempting as it was to press on, he’d stressed to Istroama how important it was to stay in line of sight. Symeon was on the wrong side of the briar for that. He backtracked out of the ferns, taking up the lid as he passed. Unfortunately the light weight made little impact on the scrub and grass as he dragged it along, but as far as he was concerned every bit helped in carving a path.

Back at the small camp based around the basin, he saw the grass had been beaten down and the worst of the scrub removed by Istroama’s dedicated cutting. The area was crowded with a generous supply of branches, spread out to dry in the sun. Symeon was delighted by this. Isroama might be in a world he didn’t understand, but after pointing him at the task the lad had gone above and beyond. This was more than enough wood to start. It was time to bring Istroama in and get him on something a little more involved.

Istroama, for his part, dropped the current bundle of sticks in shock when he heard a short, piercing note from the direction of the clearing. He turned to see Symeon waving him over, accompanied by another short note. He regathered the wood and hurried over.

“I say, that was you, wasn’t it? What was the noise? How did you make it?”

“Naw, yeah, that was just a whistle. You get a little moisture, pucker up and blow. Like this.” Symeon proceeded to demonstrate with a single low tone, much to Istroama’s utter fascination.

“Oh, I simply must try that. Moisture, pucker, blow.”

“Right. Anyway, reason I brought ya over was so we can move on ta the next job. Ya did great with all these branches, couldn’t be happier. Now we need ta check out the river, ‘n I want ta make sure we both go so we can help each other out if things get weird over there.”

Istroama, for his part, was making quiet “pffft” noises as he tried and failed to whistle, slightly cross eyed as he attempted to see his own lips.

Symeon shook his head at this, but further comment was interrupted as his gaze fell on the branch-sundial he had constructed. The vertical branch was still sticking straight out of the ground, the branch he laid in its shadow still touching the base. What alarmed Symeon was the shadow had not moved at all.

“Istroama, did ya mess with this? Maybe bump it with yer foot by accident?”

“Pffft. Pffft. Hmmm? No, I don’t think so. What is it supposed to be, exactly?”

“It’s a sundial. The sun shines on the pointer, casts a shadow, ‘n ya can get an idea of how much time has passed from how much the shadow moves. Except the shadow is right over the marker I put down, ‘n I put that marker down… what? Must’ve been an hour ago, easy. Ya sure ya didn’t touch it?”

“Pffft. Quite sure. I recall seeing it when I dropped off my first bundle of wood, and took pains to leave it be. I assumed it was your work, after all. While my recollection may be imperfect, I believe If I had dislodged your creation by mistake it would be more obviously damaged. Pffft.”

“Naw, yeah, I guess yer right on that one. It’s just so weird! That shadow shouldn’t be right on the spot like that.” With that, Symeon scanned the area. On seeing a batch of hewn scrub nearby, he grabbed a handful of the long, wiry grass and twisted it into a crude knot. He then skewered the knot with the shadowed stick, and replaced it on the ground.

“Right. Ours is the stick with the big wad of weeds on it. Give it a good look. If it looks weird when we come back, we know somethin’ is messin’ with us. Ya with me?”

“Pffft.”

“Seriously?” Symeon clapped his hands together, bringing Istroama back to the matter at hand. “Istroama, man, focus! Look at my sundial, get it yer head. I want a second opinion ta prove I’m not goin’ insane.”

Istroama looked down at the simple structure for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I do believe I’ve got it. Ah, Istroama and Symeon! Solving mysteries, braving the unknown! Very inspiring stuff.”

“Only thing I’m inspired to do is to get some food. Oh, right!” Symeon moved over to the basin and pulled the lid off. “I harvested a bunch of this fruit. The words in my head say they’re edible. I wish we could wash ‘em but I don’t know if a splash of untreated river water would be an improvement. ”

“Well! Who am I to gainsay such a reliable source?” Istroama sauntered over while Symeon leveled a narrow gaze, trying to decide if the smaller man was mocking him. “Lovely! Very yellow. So. What exactly do you mean by edible?”

“Uh. I mean we can eat ‘em. Well, not the seeds, watch out for those.”

“Excellent. I take it that ‘eat’ is a verb. How, exactly, does one eat?”

The narrow gaze left Symeon’s face at that. “Oh, wow. It’s gonna be tiny steps all the way, ain’t it? No worries Issy, I’ll get ya through this.”

“Thank you, Symy.”

Symeon reacted with a long slow, blink and a shake of his head. “Yeah, naw, we’re not doin’ that. My fault, I know, but let’s not do that Issy - Symy thing. Just… no. Look, ya see this thing I was whistlin’ with earlier? It’s a mouth. Inside the mouth? Teeth and the tongue.”

“Oh, come now. I’m not THAT daft friend Symeon! I know of incisors and jaws.” Istroama raised one arm in the air, waving and thrusting it about. “Yes, sometimes one wishes to make a blade and duel in honorable combat. Sometimes, though,” and with this his eyes took on a heated frenzy, “sometimes you want the kill to be more… primal. Yes. Nothing quite like shaping a maw to rip and tear! Sinking your fangs into the belly of a hated foe! Spraying the fields of war with viscera!”

Symeon silently resolved to keep a closer eye on Istroama. “I don’t think this fruit is gonna fight back, so let’s just start with little bites ‘n keep the viscera in the belly where it belongs.” He took a pair of plump specimens out, and deftly split them with his knife. The insides were hollow, just a thin strand of plant matter with clusters of tiny red seeds as a core. Symeon cut the cores away and flicked the seed-laden core into a fairly neat pile. “I guess we eat the outside.”

Symeon handed one over to Istroama, who turned it in his hands for a moment before gingerly bringing it to his mouth and taking a delicate nibble. As before, Symeon found it hard to read some of Istroama’s reactions due to the lack of eyebrows, but it seemed like Istroama was pleasantly surprised. This conclusion was rapidly confirmed as Istroama devoured the rest of it. Symeon rapidly followed suit and found the fruit crunchy and mildly sweet, and afterwards found himself feeling full of vigor.

“That was quite satisfying. I daresay better than how we did it in the Oruke. We would consume magic and matter by simply absorbing lesser beings directly. This though, this is… would we be able to have some more of… what did you say these were called?”

“Fruit. They haven’t got a name. Bit weird, nothin’ else so far hasn’t had a name.”

“Really? Well! Firm yet sweet. Delightfully energizing! What else would do but to name them Istroama?”

Symeon felt something click in his head. With a rising sense of dread examined one of the fruits in the basin. The ‘unnamed plant’ was now an “Istroama Pepper’.

“No. NO. What? How?”

Istroama was positively giddy at Symeon’s distressed reaction. “Yes? YES! They’re called Istroamas, aren’t they?”

“They’re called Istroama Peppers, ‘n shut yer pepper hole. I found ‘em, but somehow ya claimjumped me on the name? Just… throw some peppers into yer box and let’s get to the river.”

“You mean these Istroama Peppers?” Istroama was now beaming with smug pride and satisfaction.

“Pepper hole. Shut it. I’m namin’ the next thing. Let’s go.”