He was crafting the ship in his mind.
The angle of the stern, the components of the keel, while the wood of the majestic sequoia would make up the winch and hull, he would also require some fabric for the mainsail.
But first, he needed to cut down the tree.
They crawled uninterrupted through the darkness and then came to an even darker room. Mortimer stopped at the precipice and surveyed the surroundings. The only sound was his own panting and the scurrying of the woman who, thanks to him stopping, was now able to catch up.
“What is it?”
“I should like a machete,” Mortimer rolled from his hands and knees position back onto his rump. He scratched his head, making careful calculations of the tree’s dimensions and contemplated on how to leverage his spoon in a way that might result i
