He did not see the Sea King again. He did not take offense. They had invited him here; Cadence Bell and Cadence Bell’s work must surely be important. Research. Poetry. Contributions. He’d been brought here, left alone here, to create them.
He lost land-dweller’s boots and shirt and trousers early on; they did not seem polite to keep on, and one shirtsleeve had been nibbled by a fascinated eel. He found an old flowery robe in a brass chest, another of those wave-buried secrets; he shrugged into it. He could not recall sleeping, though he did not think he needed to.