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vanara.

You find yourself transported across to the far end of the pond - although how you got there (and why you're suddenly separated from the other teams), you can't be sure.

In front of you, you see a long wooden table with scrolls on it - one blank one with a quill and ink ensemble next to it, and a few others with words written on them in dainty script.

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Were we to always bleed, our clothing would soon rot away. We might then perish in a dire winter.

Are we in store for seasons like that here? We do seem to be inside most of the time.

If this is so, we need not worry about our garments.

Right this moment, we've writing to attend to, and clothing worries to put aside.

If from this we win memories, we should have a feast to celebrate.

Yes, that sounds like a feasible reward.

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