Everyone gets 2 days of rations and a set of crocodile boots. The next several hours of travel are slow to pass, bleeding into the next, marked only by low thunder from a storm that threatens to break constantly. The air is thick with humidity and smells of the rot of a swamp. The paper lanterns weave to and fro through out the swamp, to the point where you are certain without them, you would be lost, as there is no way to see the sun or any other guide post to direct you to your location. You all are able to share watches, resting while others keep watch, someone always taking a turn paddling the raft to follow the paper lanterns. Day passes, 1 ration is consumed for everyone. The days stretches impossibly long. The smells of the swamp are finally disrupted as you can all smell something.... someone is cooking a meal. As you come to this realization you can hear in the distance, in the direction that the lanterns lead.... a fiddle is being played gently but at a quick pace, the closer you follow, the louder it gets.