Aboard the Falcon
I have managed to gain passage on a barge heading towards the Twin Cities. The Whitewater river meanders a little, but that is to be expected of a river. What is interesting about Whitewater, is that it gained its name from the milky white that you’d gain if you mixed three parts water and one part milk. It is of the same consistency, and if you sprinkle in a little dirt, then you will see what Whitewater looks like. Some say that it is due to the chalk that the water erodes as it flows from Ardite territory, or limestone, but unless I travel upwards, there is no absolute way to find out.
The barge I am sailing on is named the Blue Falcon which is crewed by the merry, if somewhat lascivious Fullen Puliatus and his small band of three, who handle the riggin’, the fishin’, the liftin’, and the boozin’ on the Falcon, to hear them tell of it. Apparently, only Fullen is allowed near the wheel of the barge, and the other men don’t even think of entering the pilot’s quarters. I share a bunk with the men, but I prefer to sleep on the deck, away from Old Griffit’s snoring. It is peaceful when we are anchored for the night, apart from the lapping of water, and where there is very little possibility of danger when we are in the middle of the river.