I hauled my wet, cold carcass on to land and shook the water for my body. North of where I stood at the top of Welch lay a wide expanse of sea with only a small island sporting a strange squat building topped with a rotating disc.

Although it appeared to belong to Data Linden, there was nothing else to indicate its purpose so I turned my attention back to Welsh and the strange sight that my landing point afforded – a truly massive tree next to a huge building that seemed to be made out of blocks of a metal that somehow devoured light! Nestled in between, and dwarfed by both, was a small wooden house that looked as though it had dropped here from some American prairie. All three belonged to different people and once again showed just how strange the mainland can look when there are little or no building codes (1).

I moved off under the saint tree and around the house until I came to another monstrous build. I followed a marble wall until I came around to the south edge of the construction and could see more clearly that is appeared to be a huge temple and from the look of the hangings inside, one dedicated to Prok’s FIC (2), although I’m guessing it was extracting the urine rather than worshipping at the lap of.

I stood on the marble floor and stared across at the last section of Welsh to be explored, and what an uninspiring sight it was. The south east was largely empty (bar a grimy dinner expertly put together by the hobos of Calleta) and the land broken into small lumps of barren rock jutting from the sea. I had little option but to swim again, this time heading for the southern edge of the sim and what looked like an old caravan.

Which it was, complete with washing. Someone needs help getting their whites whiter!

From here I was within walking distance of the beanstalk where I had left Frank to bother the grass to his heart’s content, but as I began to make my way to him, something caught my eye and I stopped dead. Over on a small lump of land near the Hat Tree stood two deer quietly eating in the afternoon sun. I crouched and watched for a while, amazed to realise I had found some of Paul Zeeman’s (3) work!

I crept away so as not to disturb them and was soon back with Frank. He nuzzled me affectionately (4) and I swung myself up into the saddle. We were at the western edge of Welsh and looking into Taber. It looked like that for the fourth time today I was going to get very, very wet…

Yours in Travel. And Water.
HeadBurro Antfarm.
*********************

(1) Whether or not I liked this was a matter I am still working through.

(2) The FIC, or Feted Inner Core, is a theory created by Prokofy Neva. It maintains that Linden Lab gather around them certain residents to take part in projects and the like and then benefit from those close ties with The Lab. Some people hate the idea, some love it and others just ignore it. Me, well I’m too much of cynic to think such things don’t happen but also enough of realist to accept that all societies need these people to drive through changes. Frankly most folks just don’t care enough about their ‘society’ or ‘community’ to worry about a FIC but I will always argue that LL open up opportunities as much as possible as it’s great to see newbies getting a crack at things. It’s also very interesting to see who are the latest movers and shakers – like reading the rich 100: you know you can’t do anything about it, but you read it all the same

(3) Paul was the second resident, after Steller Sunshine.

(4) Not like that, you mucky sods!