Part 28: The brave crossing

Since this night's shelter was on the face of a towering mountain, I could take a quick look upward at all the ledges where creepers could be lurking ready to jump down at me - none in view, not that that means anything.  I broke the glass and ran for it.

They could be anywhere...

I guess today it was all right.  Nothing to see but a random egg, and a floating geometrical improbability.

I guess I've run far enough.

Our path northward skirted the edge of the continent, beyond which was a vast and shark-filled sea.  And the continent was gradually turning away from northward.

Soon, the continent also began to turn ugly, as a thickening storm of trees marched toward the sea.  For those of you who are new here, allow me to explain the problem with trees: they are like little pointy mountains and tunnels, and Boxter and I are an ouchable blimp that must somehow be navigated between, over, or under them.  Usually, it doesn't go well, and on occasion I have to dismount and hack a path.

Uh-oh.

Another shore appeared, temptingly clear, but it was unreachably far.  Even without the problem of sharks, there's the problem that as a combination, Boxter and I can't swim.  At all.  We sink straight to the bottom, where we may, if we choose, walk along the bottom and hope we make it to the other side without drowning.  Or getting eaten by a shark... did I mention the sharks?

And building a bridge is exceedingly slow, we established sometime earlier, back when I would hardly budge from my northward beeline for the sake of a tree.

And things went from bad to worse, and still the coastline veered increasingly away from northward.

Argh.

Soon there was nothing to do but to climb onto the trees themselves, and scramble and weave and jump from treetop to treetop like some sort of humongous neighing, swordwaving squirrel.  We fell out of a lot of trees, and falling into another tree is just as bad as falling onto the ground, damage-wise.

Double-argh.

A few minutes of thrashing increasingly southward, and I'd had enough.  We fought our way to the shore of a curving river (this version of Minecraft's not even supposed to have rivers, but there was one), and looked at the northward continent.  Here in this screenshot, it looks like it had caught the tree disease from our continent, but farther to the north things cleared out.  If only we could cross.

We might have to cross... these continents might not even be connected at all.

I did seriously consider a bridge.

...Well, the channel's sides didn't look that steep, so it probably wasn't that deep.  And it wasn't too terribly wide.  And there was a pig splashing happily in the water.  From our shore, a unicorn neighed encouragement.

"Journey on, fair travelers, and have courage!  Your quest is not yet at an end.  Yet I may not help you here."

All right.  We'd have to cross.  I checked for sharks.  We paced a little way down the shoreline to get the clearest entry point.  I scanned the river for sharks.  We adjusted our angle to head for the nearest spot on the opposite shore, where there was a shallow bank to clamber up.  That pig still seemed ok, but I checked for sharks just to make sure.  Ok, I would try it.  After a quick check of the water to make sure there weren't any sharks nearby, we leapt from the bank and into the water.

It was dark down there.  This is why I don't want to meet a shark, underwater, in the dark, on horseback.

blub blub

But we made it safely to the other shore.  And the other continent was an improvement.

For one, it had some readily accessible iron deposits.  I parked Boxter in the open pit, and began mining.  His neighs quickly diminished to an alarming faintness, and when I looked around, fresh pink-streaked rock in hand, he was gone.  Oh, no, not down the cave...

gonna make me a shiny metal hat!  Or maybe a new sword.

He was not in the cave.  Luckily.  At least I don't think there's anything that can harm horses down there, except for low ceilings.

Although that IS a bear in the background...

We raced our way northward through territory with scattered trees, pausing to admire the scenery.

mountaineering sheep!

As day drew to a close, I found a reasonably steep hill to use for digging our night's shelter.  I cleverly picked a spot on the edge of the sand (I am not often clever), so that I could replenish our glass supplies during the night.

With a fun mountain to climb in the morning!

And at least tonight I'd managed not to lose my pickaxe.  Boxter waited under the shade of a nearby tree.

I need to attach a bulldozer to him or something, so he can help.

By the time dusk began to fall, I had dug a hole, four blocks high, and in preparation for building a barrier, had already partially barricaded the entrance.  I was hoping to try to outrace Boxter to the cave's entrance once I'd dismounted, thus saving myself the expense of a haystack.  Judging by the rate things were going, I might need more than nine more days to find a pegasus, and I didn't want to have to stop to farm up some new ones.

Getting dark... hurry....

Well, it worked eventually.  I had to chase down Boxter twice, but the second time I managed to muscle him back into the cave while I built a two-block barrier.  It has just occurred to me that while on Boxter's back, I can jump two blocks - next time, could I build a two-block barrier in advance, leave enough ceiling clearance to avoid head-bonking damage, and trap Boxter easily without the use of a haystack?

Ha.

I finished blocking up the entrance with luxurious glass, and spent the next few minutes wading through knee-deep spinning cobblestone blocks, with Boxter breathing down my neck and jostling my pickaxe, before I eventually widened the room enough for a little breathing space.

A pig kept guard over our front door for most of the night.

Got this shot mid-jump.

And soon dawn appeared over skeleton-riddled desert.  Why is there never a pegasus outside my door in the morning?

Just once... that's all I ask.