Afloat in the heavy but light-floating Saren dugout, they made their way serenely along the swollen river. The grasslands and empty, flooded fishing villages of southern Cahál slid past, quiet, lovely, home to white, long-legged cranes stepping with delicacy among the grasses and reeds.
The next day passed swiftly and by afternoon, they were entering the edges of the great fens. The gorge of the rivers pouring into the lowland country had made the fens a kind of shallow lake, and only Dian’s intuition for the land keep them in the course of the river.
In the gathering dark, they spotted nearby some ruins emerging from the mud and water, one was a tower’s top, canted only slightly, that looked to be more than able to hold them. There were some small structures atop the tower.
Able to reach the crenellations atop the tower from their boat, they quickly unloaded their things and moored the boat to the tower’s edge. They set up camp, and as darkness began to fall, they became aware of a blue-white glow. In the middle distance, like a head and shoulders rising from the dark land, the buik of a Builder building shone like a beacon, the radiance effulgent and wide across the froggy bulk of the dark. They resolved to keep an eye on it as they brought their carefully-shepherded firewood for the fire they were to build. It had seemed an easy thing to get a fire seen in the dark of a great swamp. But now, with this Builder structure shining so, they had no idea what they might end up attracting….