We had made it, our fellow travelers nowhere in sight, and saw now that the island’s painted white appearance had nothing to do with it being burned down. In fact, the island probably would have preferred a fate that saw it charred to a cinder, but its trees suffered a more humiliating fate.
Were we still getting out? Hell yeah, hell yeah we were.
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Comment on the writing for what it is: half of a larger piece that I haven't finished yet. How is the setup working? I have a fear that the setup for these pieces where we are paddling to wherever and I narrate about our troubles is boring or otherwise un-necessary.
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