You've been lost a long time, Makoto. The Ferryman has been searching for you — and so have many of your fellow souls.
The Desert was a confusing place, with unpredictable storms and shifting geography. It's not unreasonable to have gotten lost there for a little while, at least. But you were wandering those sands for what could have been weeks, or months, or years; it's always hard to gauge time, now that time has lost some of its meaning.
At some point, you closed your eyes. After that... it's hard to say what, exactly, happened to you. It wasn't like sleeping, not exactly. It was more like dozing, like riding a peaceful current while still maintaining some awareness of the world continuing to move around you. It's quiet, and cool... for the most part.
There is a moment, suspended somewhere in this twilight state, where you hear voices. They're faint, not clear or close enough to make out individual words, but they are unmistakably trying to get your attention or, at minimum, seeking some kind of reply. You can't, though, even though you might want to; you're too heavy, still floating.
When you next open your eyes, you find yourself literally floating: on the still surface of the Marsh. It's as peaceful as any interaction with The River can be, maybe; you aren't deep enough to feel any of the effects of submersion. It's odd; you're a little more buoyant than you strictly should be.
It's only a moment or so later, probably, that the face of The Ferryman appears above you. Their expression doesn't betray much by way of emotion, as always— except, perhaps, for a hint of relief. They pull you back up onto the wooden walkway without much effort at all.
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The Desert was a confusing place, with unpredictable storms and shifting geography. It's not unreasonable to have gotten lost there for a little while, at least. But you were wandering those sands for what could have been weeks, or months, or years; it's always hard to gauge time, now that time has lost some of its meaning.
At some point, you closed your eyes. After that... it's hard to say what, exactly, happened to you. It wasn't like sleeping, not exactly. It was more like dozing, like riding a peaceful current while still maintaining some awareness of the world continuing to move around you. It's quiet, and cool... for the most part.
There is a moment, suspended somewhere in this twilight state, where you hear voices. They're faint, not clear or close enough to make out individual words, but they are unmistakably trying to get your attention or, at minimum, seeking some kind of reply. You can't, though, even though you might want to; you're too heavy, still floating.
When you next open your eyes, you find yourself literally floating: on the still surface of the Marsh. It's as peaceful as any interaction with The River can be, maybe; you aren't deep enough to feel any of the effects of submersion. It's odd; you're a little more buoyant than you strictly should be.
It's only a moment or so later, probably, that the face of The Ferryman appears above you. Their expression doesn't betray much by way of emotion, as always— except, perhaps, for a hint of relief. They pull you back up onto the wooden walkway without much effort at all.
"Hey, kid. Welcome back."