Belsem

I’ll never get Trisde out of this place…

After days of inhospitable villages, and countless hours of rowing, the welcome in Belsem would feel like a breath of fresh air if it was dialed down just a notch. Or ten.

As soon as we had docked, Trisde and I were fending off offers of lunch, rooms, and more. Any mention of our wares would be a guaranteed sale and the buyer would call out to passing friends to get them to buy. It was uncanny.

I am beginning to be suspicious of their water source, it could be laced with Happy Happy moss or under some kind of spell. Nobody should be this maniacally cheerful.

Trisde has been completely taken by the village and its inhabitants, his natural bonhomie having finally found a match. As I write I can catch sight of him on the little plaza next to our room, learning the local “Welcoming The Morning Sun” dance.

I may have to leave him behind.

The raft is ready for my escape, before dawn and the early bird drum circle.