Penuel shoved the last of his coal into the furnace. He had not brought much fuel as most crossings were short; however, this star hadn’t been followed in millennia. He bit into his eel jerky. and to think that a Tahor would ever breed with such a creature, disgusting, he thought. Still, he was grateful that none of the wildlife so common to Rephaim decided he would be their next snack. While some of him still wanted to be cautious, the stars had changed enough that he was relatively certain he had left his homeworld behind. Still there was some more to go, so he turned to the only way he knew to pass the time: journaling.
A few hours later, Penuel closed his diary and placed it in its strongbox before looking up past the stern of his crude steamboat. There it was. There it finally was: land. Shores neither he nor any of his ancestors had seen in thousands of years. A coastline that he had been told all his life was destroyed in a great flood.
those filthy Sopherim would have me hanged for a truth they were too scared to investigate
Penuel sank to his knees, flattened his body to the floor. “Oh great Morning Star, our god thought dead, bless your servant, bless the man who sought your face, bless the man who believed in you when all others left you condemned…”
So caught up in his prayers was he that he did not notice the rock that then split his boat in twain.