(From the travel journal of Janusz Kansk)
I know we’re in trouble when everyone goes quiet. I turn to my traveling companion and ask her what’s going on.
“We’re entering gullah territory,” she tells me, and I understand. Gullahs are notoriously territorial and ill-tempered, so it isn’t surprising that our Iwak guides wouldn’t want to attract their attention. At nine meters long and weighing over five tons, our canoe wouldn’t be much more than a speed bump to one.
Continue reading “[Fiction] The Mirung”