[b]Lucien![/b] The creature comes to a halt bare centimeters from your ankle, still slavering. It then puts its paws firmly on your trousers and starts clawing its way up you, sniffling and snuffling. From this distance, you can see that it’s as hairy as a mop, and has at least six gripping limbs. And, for that matter, a pointed nose like a weasel. And teeth like a saw. If it decides to clamp down on somewhere sensitive, you’re in danger of losing it for good. The patrons are staring grimly at you with those pale, bulging eyes, and it doesn’t take you long to realize why. Behind the bar is a pinboard covered in pale red rat tails. (Some of them bear delicate scales, like that of a lizard.) This creature is a [i]ratter,[/i] whatever it is. And the smell of Ailee is driving it wild. You’ve got very little time in order to convince the proprietor that Ailee is not a rat, that the ratter should please be called off, and that you require help removing it from your person because it’s just been enchanted, before it decides to sink its teeth into the seat of your trousers, or worse. *** [b]Ailee![/b] Fascinating, isn’t it? Maybe if you wait, you’ll find out more about what this thing does when it’s curious about something. *** [b]Coleman![/b] The Flood pulls machinery off walls and tears down ruins and eats everything in its path. That means the junk’s materials of the Heart, touched by the Flood, useful for all sorts of things. Most practically, since you don’t want someone to fall achingly in love with an unattainable ideal or drown on their own spit, is that by sympathy you might be able to trick the Flood into thinking Sasha’s already part of her, or one of her worshippers. Adorn her in nets and set her out on a barge, and you might get through without any trouble. As for the Beasts? This is a lull period for them; most are gathered to drink, with some careful sentries perched on their wagons or cleaning junk or drawing up their nets. By and large they’ve been marked by the flood, most looking like overgrown catfish or frogs, no matter what sort of critter they used to be; their horns are small nubs or coral-like prongs. The Powers of the Heart don’t much care for stagnation in the face of their overwhelming nature. Meekness is the wrong approach; they’ll assume you want to join them as a petitioner. Polite assertion; make clear you mean to pass through, having given and taken in equal measure. *** [b]Jackdaw![/b] The word is [i]market.[/i] Each net belongs to a Beast. This means that each Beast interested in barter has a stall connected to their wagon. Ring the bell and summon the proprietor if you want to make a deal. As for what’s hidden... well, certain wagons have more than one purpose! That big, oval one, for example: that’s a communal tavern. That one with a cog and hammer hung over the door: that’s a tinker-den. That warped and water-soaked one: that’s a shrine to the Flood, and outside it are strips of paper and pages nailed to the slats and skinned spines hung like gruesome trophies, their lettering washed away. There’s got to be something left, right? Because otherwise this is just a horrid waste of paper and intention and words. You causally sidle away from Sasha and start pawing through ruined pages, and soon enough you’re noticing the pattern. The intentional streaking of ink. The swirling coils. The dreadful dark. [i]You are loved. You are alone. Come to my arms. Fill your pockets and come as you are. In me the drowned are loved forever.[/i] It doesn’t make you take leave of your senses, but it hooks in you and won’t leave. [i]In me the drowned are loved forever.[/i] The water caresses the shore, lying against the stones like a lover. [i]In me the drowned are loved forever.[/i] You ache with the need to be held, to be in Her embrace, to slough away worries and flesh and loneliness— A bead of water drops on your nose, making you squeak. The pages are dizzying to look at now.