The Nurmermer Canyon was quiet in the night. Hem, Bram, and Crawley had indeed seen naught of the Nurmermermaids and had to set up their camp for the night. Just a typical fantasy camp, nothin’ special. Your standard fire, tents, meats and cheeses, and a slug o’ water for drinkin’. None of ‘em brought as much as a weapon as none of ‘em had much expectation of runnin’ into JIBBERJABS out here.

“Lucky you had the wits to tackle the thing,” Crawley was sayin’ in between crackles of the fire. The canyon was lost in the darkness, consumed beyond the orange glow, but the river was movin’ along with a pleasing hiss.

“Aye,” agreed Bram. “Did ya see how that thing just blew apart?”

Hem was reliving the moment on the Bridge of Caldering, paying little attention to the lines of Bram and Crawley. The way he just charged the thing, thinkin’ without thought, doin’ without doin’, runnin’ without fear. He liked that feeling and deep down he wanted to feel it again. He made a vow here and now: he would march on into the Ragged Maiden soon as they returned and would get some more stories outta Blom Blomgrin. That ol’ cackler knew more than he let on.

“And the way it sucked into the SKY!!” Crawley was still sayin’, “like some sorta whirlwind just picked it up and off it went!”

“Aye,” agreed Bram, unable to articulate further.

“This here river is indeed the Ravin’ River,” Hem Slonnigum said. “I reckon if we follow it in that direction — “ he pointed in that direction — “in the mornin’ we oughta find ourselves back in the Fleep Fleep forest.”

“Nurmermermaids?” inquired Bram hopefully.

“Nurmermermaids or no,” said Hem. “Our supplies ain’t lastin’ for more than less than more than less than morrrrrrrrrrrrre than a week I should say if I’m callin’ out the facts.”