Another Experiment, Part 1 – The River

You are so deeply asleep that it is not until the bird on your chest gives your face an experimental peck that you wake. You jerk up, sending the bird squawking away into the air. The motion rocks the tiny boat in which you sit alarmingly, and you spend some moments trying to stop your vessel from capsizing.

Eventually you settle, and look around. It is around noon, the sun high in the sky. You are floating down a broad, deep river, winding its slow course through rocky ground broken by a few small stands of trees. The scrubland looks to extend in all directions, almost as far as you can see; there are mountains to the north, and behind you, to the east, you can just make out the shapes of trees, of a forest now many miles distant – the forest in which you came across the inn, and the bandits, and fled from them in this tiny stolen boat.

Photo by Martin Sanchez (Unsplash)

The last thing you remember is hunkering down in the bottom of the boat, tired and battered and afraid. You must have floated away from the bandits who were chasing you – you’re still in one piece, after all, and when you examine the stern of the boat you see a broken-off crossbow bolt, embedded just a few inches from where your head was resting. So, you think, at least I’m alive.

But you are hungry, and filthy, and your many bruises ache. You have a few coins in your purse and precious little else. The tiny boat has no oars and no sail. You have been floating for hours along this river. You have no map, only the sun to give you direction, and no idea where you are.

Thinking back, you recall a signpost: to the west of the forest was a town, called Whetstone. You cannot see a town behind you, but the rise of the land might be blocking it. You have no idea how far you have floated from the forest. Whetstone could be just around the next bend in the river… or it could be miles behind you already.

You risk standing, balancing precariously in the little boat. Peering at the riverbank, you can see not a road, but at least an old and very worn track. It follows the riverside as far back as you can see. Ahead, it appears to turn away into the hills. You can see nothing at its end, except, perhaps, the faintest hint of what might be woodsmoke.

 Ahead, the river flows on, into a landscape that seems to dip – a valley, perhaps; a way down from the hills through which this river flows. Whether it is Whetstone or not, perhaps there is a town or village down there, where you can seek food, shelter or even work.

You are sure that, with a bit of effort, you could bring the boat to the riverbank and continue on foot, even without oars.

You can beach your boat, and then either backtrack along the path, to see if Whetstone is behind you, or follow the track into the hills and the hint of smoke. Or you can sit where you are, and see where the river takes you.

What will you do?

Let’s try this again, shall we? Cast your votes for a course of action in the comments below: I’ll tot them up next week, and we’ll see where this story takes us.

What happens next is up to you. Choose wisely.