I stepped off the pod onto the soft grass tentatively, noting it was a bluer green than I was used to seeing. The widow followed behind me as I exited with both of us still holding our bags. In reflection I don't know why we were so calm; why no one was screaming or crying or anything. A feeling of strange surrealism washed over me as I looked around at the bizarrely beautiful plant material. The grass grew in curling blades similar to the fiddle-head ferns growing on earth, a blue-green stemming from quinacridone pink bases in red sandy soil. Something must have been eating this grass, as it was worn down in trails and had bare patches next to taller straightened growths as high as my knees. 

At the moment of the mention of bodies of water, I realized I did smell salt in the air coming from the distant south. It wasn't as strong as if we were right on the beach, but we must have been near marsh or something. I heard the maybe-Imams asking about the water to the blond man, and I sniffed the air again. 

"I'm not sure about fresh water," I said speaking up and walking to them, the silent widow in tow, "but I think we're maybe an hour away from the sea. I have fishing gear in my pack. Two collapsible rods. I'm a good swimmer too." In my head, I was already weighing the possibility of anything like clams to be harvested, but also the possibility of something in the water planning to harvest me. [i] I'd be smart not to go alone.[/i]

I looked up at the sky for a moment, and spotted a few dark shapes moving through the sky with tails like fire. "Oh... look! Other pods!! I wonder where they'll land..."