You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake.You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake.You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake.You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake.You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake.You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake...

Erik hardly noticed the transition into the much more comfortable region of the Morlat outpost until the sudden thunder of the sails being deployed ripped him from his trance. Mouth and tired eyes wide open, Erik gazed stupidly as the sails filled with the gentle breeze. He became aware that he could feel his body again, that the horizon was more than a quarter mile away and consisted of more than a blanket of white, and that he was quite warm in all of his skins. Quickly, he dumped off all of his skins, revealing his stout build, which glistened in the sunlight.

Even after stripping down, Erik found the heat extremely uncomfortable. He had lived in the north all of his life. It was likely to be the only reason he had survived the trip.

...

Once inside the outpost, Erik found it so hot and claustrophobic that he could hardly breath. The line of men before him stretched farther than he could see. But, as he slowly moved forward, he begun to understand what was happening. The men before him were all assigned a tool.

When Erik's turn came, the Morlat studied him briefly, then handed him a gargantuan axe. It was very similar to the one that he had at home, before he was taken away, which he had used for logging. It gave him a bit of comfort to hold an object that reminded him of home, though, given the circumstance, it did little to ease his anxiety.

Without getting a chance to dwell much on the thought of what used to be, Erik was directed into another room. In the middle, upon a stand, stood a hooded Morlat. Perhaps now, Erik would get some answers. He doubted, however, that he'd hear any that he liked.