Five riders set out from the crossroads along the northeastern road. Nelio, Flip, Flap, and two guardsmen. By torchlight they rode through the path, which has a canopy of trees reaching across from above. The canopy serves to hold back much of the downpour, but also makes the surrounding area darker as it mutes the moonlight.
The riders are able to maintain a moderate pace considering the darkness and weather. They arrive at the ferry crossing after the expected six hours of travel. The sun has not yet begun to rise, though the horizon is beginning to show color. The ferry crossing is a single dock, large enough to moor a raft, outstretched over a section of the swamp. There are no signs of life beyond the constant croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets common to the area.
"They were supposed to be camped here," says a guardsman, "Where are they?"