Nonda waited until nightfall yesterday. He held course until he felt certain that the KoraKora could not see us even should they be close. And then he guided us into the trees.
Though we hope we have left them behind, our stress surrounding the KoraKora has only been supplemented by the fear of capsizing. Now, rather than use the paddles to move more quickly, we use them to fend off trees. There are all kinds of things jutting just above the surface that scrape the skin in the darkness and threaten to entangle the canoes completely.
We have entered a gauntlet that never ends.
The newcomers who arrived with Inifra have lit torches and placed them in the bows of the canoes. How they stay alight in the rain is beyond me, but it is certainly better than attempting this in total darkness.
If we make it through this alive I’m not sure I’ll despise marching as much by comparison. At least when marching there are no vines which, should they catch me as I walk past, will entangle and drown me in the dark.
We must weave constantly, for there is no direct path between more than any handful of trees. The motion of it all requires a concerted effort. A concerted effort which cannot end, for the current will continue to carry us should we pause, and there is no lashing ourselves to any trees to rest. For all we know, the KoraKora are right behind us.
I miss the open river most of all tonight. The blissful simplicity of sleeping while the current does all the work. Let us hope we find it again before these trees undo us all.