At the first mountain pond, low but discernible as such, he spotted one of those famous angle fish he’d heard about. But angle only mirrors angle as it turns out, as in the corner of the sim of Carumba just beyond where it meets up with Tickle Ridge, Beaver Lagoon, and Westvale. With his lower draw to reduce lag, Al could only see flatter ground from here on up. What was there to skirt? It all seemed like a trap. He rang up Tom again.
“Get out, abort,” came the suggestion, nay, order from his superior being. “We’ll start again in this direction soon. Regroup at the Bellissaria Homeless Union. There are other people there, I’m sensing now, that you need to interact with. Try to find the turtle for real this time. Maybe even Bart,” even though Tom knew this would be more illusive and the equivalent of finding the goose that laid the golden egg. Could he, can he? There was a reason the ridge dwindled to nothing past Cowabunga. Tom didn’t remember that. Space and perhaps time were being altered.
Never mind that Al was wrong and that the ridge continued a little west of where he was looking, low but discernible again if you remove the hiding trees from his angle. Fate dictated he return to the coast. And he forgot to take care of procuring that stick, which he took as an omen too.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 