Hem and Breema crossed the threshold into the Uncharted Territories and carried their cargo with them. It was a large, nondescript box with sharp corners. It cut Hem a few times until he decided to carry it using gloves.

Their journey had been difficult but not unenjoyable. Hem liked it, in fact. Breema was good company. Her traveling skills rivaled those of NUroemrerh but he had LONG since parted company with that psycho. The days had grown long, with sunrise happening just a few hours after it had dropped beneath the horizon.

“How we holdin’ up?” Breema asked without looking back. She was ahead of Hem and clearin’ the path.

Hem didn’t answer. He was busy luggin’ their cargo and thinking about past days. He’d been doing that lately and the thought brought his mood down. The last few weeks Hem had spent in Gilba Gilba, Blom had done nothin’ but reminisce about past days. The fact that Hem was also doin’ it now made them realize we all come to the same end. Then really it didn’t make no difference if he left his hometown or not.

Hem shook his head with the force of a dying fish to clear his mind of these insane thoughts. He couldn’t afford to be thinkin’ these thoughts of the crazy men! Life was more than madness. Life was also about haulin’ hisself around the South o’ Things on his ambiguous errand with a woman he met in some unlikely scenario yet to be described by the writer. His memory was already a bit loose these days and if he was bein’ honest he figured those six or seven years between Gilba Gilba and the South o’ Things were finally catching up to him. He remembered very little of that time period either due to the spells he was casting or the spells he was under. Any manner of ramblin’ thoughts could’ve found their way into his head and that was just how it went.

Breema hacked and slashed her way through the densest paragraphs she had yet seen. It had been years since she encountered writing of this nature and she felt only slight stirrings of disappointment and mild confusion.

“Doin’ fine,” piped up Hem from behind. His voice was an unnaturally high pitch that made no sense. Nothin’ made any sense these days but that’s why they were carrying these Wayward Spirits out to the edge of the South o’ Things! Got a MISSION TO FIRE OFF here Hemmy old boy.

91 scenes and you’ll be losin’ your mind too man. 91 scenes of unplanned unoutlined fantasy rambling will have you scraping the bottom of the bucket for new ideas

HEM CAUGHT UP with Breema and he gave her a bit of a rueful grin, the kind you read about in novels but can never quite make in real life. That’s just the way it goes. She ignored him for her own reasons. She was caught up in thoughts of her own and we’ll probably visit them in another scene. We got 8 more of these damn things so anything helps at this point.

The sun was falling down into the darkness for an hour or so, which gave both of them an opportunity of relief from the burning heat. The South o’ Things was indeed hotter than imagination. The very ocean was BOILING down here. Why was he here again? He needed to remember. But nope good sir he would not. He would continue to lose focus. This was why Breema was leading.