Her conch shell slipped from her hip as she sped with scaly, flippered feet to the surface. Turning to retrieve it allowed her to take a look back, the city had disappeared, mired in deep blackish blue, the distance between she and it without measure. Her mission of one had carried her for 600 rests, though the increments of time between had shortened, she floated without ascending so often. At least, it was either she or her mount who were taken over by the loneliness of the journey, deciding to escape its monotony with slumber. In either even it amounted to the same. This time it was Scrit, sleeping as she led him by his woven kelp reigns, his propelling tail relaxed and long as he dozed. She held her spear between her legs as she reached for the conch, noticing the dark bodies passing beneath her, imagining how she would repel them if she lost the shell.

The Surface Myths mattered less and less as the trek continued. Eventually astride the massive stallion, she bounded in leaps, imagining what a floating reef might look like, her aqua hair rippling as the water moved passed them.