Stavanger Bay The coffin-bangers were about to arrive.

North of the glacier—directly north—was a mountain chain he had hiked in the past. It held little interest. He did not have the energy to waste climbing cliffsides or navigating steep areas likely occluded by snow. Instead he kept to the lowlands, following the hills until the grass petered in to coarse clay-dirt, and then to sand. The booming of the sea brought Revui back to his messy dreamscape, bits and pieces flickering to the forefront of his mind despite his wakefulness.

He descended along a sand bar and out to the shale beds that banded a stretch of the coast. It was low tide; the afternoon sun beamed down through the crisp air, hardly warming him as it stroked the silver strands along his spine. Debris that had been washed ashore stagnated and filled the air with layers of smell, mostly rot.

Revui picked his way between some piles. The thick green bands of seaweed netted around bulbous heads of kelp, and just beyond those layers were similar amalgamations, though dried. He was careful as he stepped across sections purely stocked with white shells.