Time for Geography Tales
You'd think that the Cavalry was coming down the valley, the way everything and everyone seems transfixed, motionless. There's little danger of any such event, for any number of reasons. In fact, since this hour yesterday, it would take a practiced eye to detect the nearly imperceptible changes in the lay of things. That's a constant fact, one that has lead to universal
practicing with ones eyes, at least in these parts.
I haven't been able to find out much about the history or geography of Creosotia, mainly, because everyone who's said anything about the place agrees that it's neither here nor there. Admittedly, but that doesn't leave many clues. As near as I can tell, it's somewhere along the western flank of some old mountain range, along the headwaters of the mighty Punytents river valley. I seem to recall that the Puny Tents didn't always go by that name. It started out as a trickle of lazy mud, and went downhill from there, creating a slow-moving ooze in it's wake. Travellers who, unaware or cocksure, found themselves stuck on one side or the other, were deemed," the Penitents". Some, thwarted in their journeys, settled here, only to find that the land didn't have much use for people or their notions of civilized culture. Of these poor bastards, only a few tried sticking it out, even though nothing - nothing - was working, which predictably led to a state of being "Penny Tense", or maybe it was a reference to the raggedy little homes into which they were eventually relegated, the so-called "Puny Tents".
Headwaters or not, the Punytents never amounted to much, as rivers go. The wind picks up in the springtime, and between periodic deluges, just blows dust and dirt back up the slope, where - you guessed it- the extremely short rainstorms turn it back into mud, and send it back down again. It's only been the last couple of decades that have made life simpler, in Creosotia. The blistering sun is a new thing (relatively), and the few creatures stuck here have learned to look, look a little harder, and then look some more, before moving any of the pieces on this bleak game board.
They had had many of the same problems which only seem amplified, now, in this same God-forsaken little wedge of Eden. The ocean's a few hundred miles back that way, too close by a few hundred miles, for a bunch of Impenitents, unless they figured a way to sprout gills. I've been looking pretty hard, but unless I missed something, everything that's left us to deal with, is now in front of us.