The powerful stream pushed him along, plunging him deeper and deeper, the Vilkai powerless to pursue
Caught in its grip, Balwyn grimly struggled to gain control a-gainst the stream, grabbing at anything
A nasty knock and he was no longer aware, a floating corpse for the flying Neskri to nibble
On and on his body floated, out to where only water wanders off to the horizon
Whether Gaal granted it, or Balwyn’s wonderous will worked, he woke up
Swam with strong strokes, though half stunned and sinking
He made it to massive rocks covered in mist, the last of his might spent on the movement
How long he was there, Gaal knows, the hungry Neskri hunting his wasted form
Just as they were about to jab him he jumped up, jubilant to join the living
But had fallen into a fever, was famished and far from his former strength—
So he established camp, explored the area, eating what looked edible and examining the coast
He came upon carvings, eery shapes appearing to crawl a-cross the cold slabs
Again and again Balwyn returned to gaze at the artistry
Puzzling the possible meanings of the pictures and what Power might have produced them.
Long he thought as his thin frame filled out, consuming the thriving life beneath the water.
Deciphering the carvings filled him with dangerous desire, driving him delirious in search of answers
All the while a heavy mist arched across the heavens, obscuring Gaal and all the lesser lights
Balwyn’s quest for answers to his questions ruined the quiet of his sleep with quivering qualms
Long he lay there, looking into the mist, lost for lacking the ability to leave this labyrinth.
Madness was near Balwyn who had nothing to eat, sitting nakedly next to the carvings, as if nailed
His hair matted, his head hung low, Balwyn had drifted into a dazed sleep when a change woke him
The sky shone with a vast array of shining sparkles—a brilliant patchwork of celestial lights, the Stars
For the fog had lifted, if only for a faltering moment, leaving Balwyn fixed upon the beautiful scene…