2403 moon cycles after the Great Tore We came within sight of a solitary island. Oh, so many waters and waves had we seen by then, so numerous they had been, that we nearly lost the memory of solidity under our feet, the reminiscence of the smell of soil and the recollection of grass on which rest comes swifter than anywhere else. The sea rocked against the hull as would an abandoned lover as we drew nearer and nearer the shore, only vaguely mindful of the treacherous reefs guarding - or blocking - our way. The very moment a call had come up from the foretop, the proximity of land had stolen our hearts and souls. Going ashore was indisputable; indeed, madness would befall us were we to do otherwise.
The island did not greet us with open arms, though. Upon closer examination of the land we were about to moor by, our enthusiasm significantly dwindled away. The beach and the sand, either bleached by the scorching sun or thus naturally coloured, was deathly pale; it invited no life to tread upon it. Here and there lay thin pieces of driftwood, like remnants of a cannibal's feast. The trees behind the beach were ghastly - intensely green, as if entirely covered with moss - even though there was no moss yet to be seen - which gave them an ancient, weary appearance. We shared a conviction that once we landed, a freezing wind would blow from behind the boles like the breath of a freshly opened tomb. What was further away we could not discern, for impenetrable darkness obscured everything else.
Almost half of our friends had been defeated by the toils of the voyage. But a score remained; however, those who did were by far the strongest and the most resilient kind that the seas had ever shaped. For a hundred moon cycles had we travelled among the ravenous waves, under the insatiable sun or through a raging storm, our only company being broad-winged birds that we did not know the name of. What dried bread we still had sustained us; what fresh water had not leaked from the barrels kept our throats wet. We had come to appreciate good conversation and in the process we learnt by heart whatever the others had said. A man knew what another man thought of the expedition; yes, we discussed that many a time, developing an attitude that each one felt was his own.
Nothing else did we miss as much as our women. Their embrace was wanting at any moment - be it during the sunset at one's bow watch or as one lay in his cabin at night with no companion but the ever-present whisper of the sea. Right after the thirteenth moon cycle of the journey had started, a man had crossed the threshold of insanity due to his longing; a threshold to be stepped over no more than once and in only one direction. He had been seen running across the deck, his shirt marked by red stains at the ends of the sleeves. He had tried putting his misery to an end, but the effect he desired was too slow to come; he plunged into the water and was never seen again.
Each of us was thus summarising the voyage in his mind as we descended into the boat and vigorously rowed for the beach. Our vessel was at anchor some eighty strides from the shore, three men left onboard to keep an eye on her; one had broken a leg in an unfortunate fall, another was in a spell of deep sleep, and the last one volunteered to stay. The ship appeared strangely morose as we looked back at it, as if some of the island's gloom had already managed to creep over and defile her. Soon, we reached the beach. The sand grated unpleasantly under the bottom of our boat. The land was solid indeed, even excessively so - we stared at one another, each wondering if the man at his right felt the same - the island was wicked, its soil oddly compact, its air motionless and stale, the lack of breeze frightening.
Then a horrible howl came from the forest. Similar shrieks joined the leading sound in a symphony of violence and chaos. We were prey.
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