The Nurmermer Canyon! NEW SPOT. Glen made it down from the Madman’s Mountains last night, huffin’ and puffin’ as though possessed by the Wayward Spirits. And maybe he was? Who’s to say? For he was alone up there during the night, castin’ about for shelter in the midst of that Autumn Storm. Autumn Storm Number Four it was, for the accounters who were keeping track in the annals of the Crown Records.

Sun was out today, beamin’ down as though it were still the High Spring. Glen was grateful for that. He needed the sun. He heaved and ho’d his way out of the other side of the Fleep Fleep Forest and made sure his way was clear. Usually no travelers or merchants out after a Storm like that but if HE was out well then ol’ pal, anyone could be out.

Heemee’s was out here, not far from the Nurmermer Canyon. He’d stop by her ol’ shack to pick up an overdue order of wine if he could haul any of it back. Maybe he’d borrow a wine cart or wine hauler of some kind. Ragged Maiden NEEDED ITS WINE.

He shambled in the direction of the canyon, eager for a place to rest and prepare some of his prepared food: burnt leaves and flayed sheep flesh. Tasty stuff from the Blumberdan Outback.

The wind was fair, the sun was fair, the air was fair and the Fire Fair was done for the year so as he approached the top of the Nurmermer Canyon he wanted to take in the view, could he do that for a couple of minutes?

He went up to the edge and glanced down, glanced alllll the way down to the bottom to the Ravin’ River that wound its way like a cliche ribbon along the floor of the Canyon. Glen had never been down there. Rumors of Nurmermermaids always lived in every Gilba Gilban boy but none of them possessed the guts to go check it out and verify. The prevailing wisdom held it was better to believe in a useful illusion than to shatter it with the rusty sword of truth. Because then what? What do you do then? The sword gets heavier. SO HELD THE PREVAILING WISDOM.