He straddles the black water, each boot on a different tuft, standing with the easy balance we all must learn or else we die. “There’s something over there!” I hate the tufts— knobs of land sticking out of the water, covered with limp grass like dirty hair. If there are a lot of them, we have to carry the boats.

Tufts are small, fist-wise fingers of earth sticking up from the black water. They tend to exist in clusters, making those areas very unsafe for Travelers and others who use boats.

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