Kalli, Djeri, Haavar, and Alik, had met once again. Each of the four siblings had become a chief, and each had reconvened once again at the Undying Morekah for the monsoon festival. And, once again, they were guzzling hanyil in amounts others could not dream of owning.

Being the scions of an esteemed family had its perks.

In their bowls of hanyil, they got to talking and planning and scheming as siblings often did. Djaso formed the beloved base of each of their prows, but the tops of those very prows were starting to seem a bit bare by comparison. Not everyone could be the founder of a prosperous Morekah. They still trawled the sea (not like their Sasnak-ra cousin Edin, who was to be the Mareh) but they couldn’t allow themselves to be outdone by a long-since-eaten corpse! But perhaps that corpse had the right idea…

The Sasnak knew that the yellowfin and the black crabeater migrated north during the fall months and returned in the spring (hence the Tonyak month names of Keritis, fish-return-to-the-mouth, and Gosanyera, fish-pass-the-great-island). And many times, Kalli and Haavar had joined forces to follow them north, taking a whale or two a month while also making trades with the Shasak and beyond. They had never followed the fish all the way north. Typically, they would return before the winter set in and they got a chill, and so that they could make more trading expeditions. If they joined forces though, they would have no issues sailing north. And they had heard stories of the errant Shasak who went north. Perhaps they should investigate!

And so they did. They spoke with their cousin Edin, and let the other chiefs know of their plan. And when the month finally turn to be the right time, they set sail north. They rounded the furthest tip of the Akinimod peninsula, stopping at various villages along the way, making good time in good weather. Whales were harpooned, excess was had, Shasak with their great mounds were traded with (and plundered occasionally). Life was good, and yellowfin and black crabeater was plentiful.

But that’s when things started to get strange.

As they followed the coasts, crab-claws in hand to mark the locations and paths and measure the distance of the stars, they looked to their right. The trees of their home were thinning out. The jungle gave way to endless dry shore – only scrub brush to break it up. They went ashore to reconnoiter the area now and again, and occasionally found forests here and there, but it was very much unlike what they had seen back home. Bizarre animals now and again, environs quite unlike any they had experienced. Plants like they had never seen! Gone were the cypress and mangrove trees of their home, as were the colonies of sugarcane and the occasional gator. Replaced, they were, with flowers and trees they had never seen nor heard of. It was odd, to say the least, and more infuriatingly not something one put on a prow!

Eventually, what they found as the months wore on was even more surprising.

The four of them were on the beach, their grand undying flotilla moored, and their hanyil had long since depleted, as has the sugarcane juice to make more. It was miserable. Miserably sober. But then they heard shouting. Well, more like wailing. They stood up from their shoreside camp, and looked to where the wailing was coming from. And out of the distance came...