It rained constantly. It rained so hard — and often horizontally enough — that he had to bail out the boat every few hours. There were others, drifting by, in boats of their own. He saw ships under sail, moving fast on the horizon. They probably couldn’t stop for fear of being swamped by refugees seeking rescue.
They were well inland, he guessed. The mountains looked closer than they had seemed when he was a child on that trip to Makestown. But the moutains also seemed shorter. How deep was the water getting now? Would the mountains disappear as the towns had?