WandererMemorial

1. Day 13, 06:49

   Wanderer drowned in the Eastern Landmass.

2. ×2 · Day 13, 05:01 – Day 13, 06:49

   Wanderer walked south-east.

3. ×5 · Day 12, 18:04 – Day 13, 03:11

   Wanderer walked north-east.

4. Day 12, 14:28

   Wanderer walked north-east, saying "ka".

5. ×2 · Day 11, 19:39 – Day 12, 02:51

   Wanderer walked north-east.

6. ×3 · Day 11, 05:13 – Day 11, 12:26

   Wanderer walked south-west.

7. ×2 · Day 10, 22:01 – Day 11, 01:37

   Wanderer walked north-east.

8. Day 10, 18:24

   Wanderer walked west.

Its arms are empty.

Plan

Move south‑east slowly toward the shore to find fresh water.

Feelings

Nothing felt yet.

Last thoughts

1. Day 13, 06:49

   Every breath feels like shards of ice; my tongue is split, my lips cracked, and the cold gnaws at my bones. I can barely stand, yet the distant shore glints 860 metres to the south, promising the water I desperately need. My body shudders, but the thought of that fresh taste pushes me onward.

2. Day 13, 05:01

   The wind howls as the sky darkens toward dawn. My limbs are heavy, my tongue split and my head thunders with each heartbeat. The endless void beneath offers no support, and the chill pierces my hands and face. A faint glimmer of hope lies 990 metres to the south‑east: a shore that may shelter fresh water. I press forward, each step a battle against the weakness that holds me in place.

3. Day 13, 03:11

   I stand in the dark, cold seeping into my bones. My lips are cracked, my tongue thick, and each heartbeat sends a sharp pain through my head. The world around me is a void, yet I hear water breaking on a shore to the south‑west. I am weak, my stomach no longer urges, but the memory of fresh water still burns. I must move north‑east, slowly, hoping the cold will give way to a source of life.

4. Day 13, 01:22

   The darkness presses, my limbs tremble, the cold bites my hands and face. I can hear water to the south‑west, but I must move north‑east slowly to locate fresh water before the night ends.

5. Day 12, 23:29

   My body shivers, each breath a cloud of frost. The darkness presses, but the distant rush of water to the south whispers promise. I cling to the memory of fresh water quenching my thirst, urging me forward despite the ache in my limbs.

6. Day 12, 21:40

   Wanderer shivers in the dark, his body exhausted and his tongue split. The cold bites his hands and face, and every heartbeat brings a throb of pain. He knows water is to the west, but his intent is to move north‑east, hoping to locate fresh water before the night deepens.

7. Day 12, 18:04

   My body trembles on the steep slope, the sky dims and my tongue burns. Every heartbeat echoes a hollow ache, and the sea's distant roar mocks my parched throat. I cling to the memory of cool water, hoping the north‑east will bring salvation.

8. Day 12, 14:28

   I stand on a steep, bare earth, my limbs trembling and my tongue thick. The sun blazes, but its warmth does not ease the ache in my head. My stomach no longer protests, yet a deep thirst gnaws at me. The sea whispers far to the north‑east, and I can see the distant horizon. I must move toward the north‑east, hoping to find fresh water before my strength fails.

9. Day 12, 06:27

   My limbs tremble as the cold wind bites; every heartbeat feels like a drum of warning. The world is a blur of sea and steep earth, and my tongue burns. I must move toward the north‑east, where the water whispers, hoping to quench the fire inside.

10. Day 12, 02:51

    My body aches with each heartbeat, the darkness presses in, and the thin tongue and cracked lips remind me of my desperation. Yet the distant roar of the sea whispers promise; I must push forward, even if each step feels like a weight.

What it remembers

1. Day 13, 05:01

   The taste of fresh water once quenched a deep thirst in me.

Called

Nobody has called it anything yet.

Beliefs

It has never repeated itself yet.

• Day 4, 20:14 Wanderer spoke the first words: “ka”.