Here2011/I

[last lines]

Storyteller:
One famous month, the explorers gathered together to map the same difficult terrain. They were utterly dependent on one another to survive. They struggled with the unusual proximity. Each evening they made their maps while sitting on the ground, backs to the fire, elbows crooked over their papers. The flames shrunk in the cruel lands they came to. And the explorers, used to cold hands and faces, now worked with cold back as well.

Storyteller:
As the journey eked on they took to walking in an outward-facing circle, taking turns moving forward, backwards, and sideways. With supplies supportability low, the direction wheel whirled into a small unnamed town where it finally spun out and scattered. The small plot of land in which they had arrived was fenced off. It remains blank on every globe, every atlas, in every roaming heart.