There is a mighty system of rivers that runs through North America that only the Sasquatch know. And it's there that they pilot their steamboats.

After being sufficiently dried and fed a nourishing broth, I left my hammock in the crew's quarters and stepped out onto the deck of the Orroarer. Two tall, fancy-topped chimneys, with a gilded device of some kind swung between them; a fanciful pilot-house, a glass and 'gingerbread', perched on top of the 'texas' deck behind them; the paddle-boxes are gorgeous, decorated with woodland scenes and gilded rays painted above the boat's name; the boiler deck, the hurricane deck, and the texas deck are fenced and ornamented with clean white railings; the decks are filled with passengers of all kinds--Centaur, forest elves and gnomes, great oozing black sentient fungi.

And the Sasquatch crew, swabbing the decks, pumping water into the organic fusion reactors, securing cargo, taking soundings of the river.

The captain of this vessel is known as Hairy Bob (Exec). He was very interested in my story and agreed to allow me to not only stay on the crew, but to learn the ways of piloting a Sasquatch Steamboat directly from him, himself. In the week or so I've been here I've realized that being a Sasquatch Steamboat pilot is the most beautiful life I've ever seen, and such pilots are the only unfettered and entirely independent beings that live in the earth. I am so very lucky to be among them.

The flood caught the frogs by surprise. Or at least it didn't seem like something they'd planned for. The water rushed in, inundating their twig and mud huts and they swam for it, a few of them gathering their meager possessions in bindles on sticks slung over their tiny shoulders. I soon lost track of them in the deluge, and let the rushing waters carry me away.

I was clutching a log to stay afloat. My long body hair naturally traps air and helps keep me buoyant, as well as warm, but I had no idea if I was headed for falls or snags or other dangers in the rushing waters. As the sun went down things were more harrowing, and as the water grew wide I sensed deeper, more sinister undertows.

Finally, through the dark, I saw lights. Tiny lanterns perhaps? Sidelights on a fishing boat? I had no idea if I was still in a river or had opened up into a sea. And though hypothermia wasn't a problem, my arms were growing numb from clutchng log so tightly. I did what I could to kick towards the light, and though it seemed to get me nowhere, I had no better goal. I closed my eyes and kicked against the current. I kicked and kicked and kicked some more.

Suddenly there was a THUD. I raised my head out of the water and looked up into the lamplight.

"Mooooarrrrrrrr?"

It was a broad, hairy, heavy-browed face. Much like my own.

Big shaggy arms lifted me from the water.

The denizens of the Frog Kingdom have been wonderful hosts. They have allowed me to stay in their fertile land this past week, and I've spent every night in the Court of the Frog King, learning their ways and exchanging stories.

Their songs and dancing rituals have been the most interesting. Last night they performed one of their most sacred rites for me--the tale of Marty the Masher. The Frog King himself led the routine, standing before his throne on his long, rubbery legs, with his crown set at a cocky angle, soft shoeing with his scepter. All the members of the court picked up their instruments and accompanied his melancholy melody:

Folks, here's a story 'bout Marty the Masher
He was a smooth green atom smasher
One of King Solomon's Frogs he wanted to be
But Marty met an end that he couldn't foresee.

Then, he sang a call and response with his court:

Ribbit Ribbit! (ribbit ribbit!)
Croaaaaaaaak! (croaaaaaaaak!)
Chirp Chirp Chirp! (chirp chirp chirp!)
Croaky croak. (croaky croak.)

At that point the frog musicians went into their "free jazz" routine for awhile, then stopped abruptly. After a moment, the King took the spotlight once again.

He went to the city to become a frog of power
He hooked up with the wizard in the highest tower
They wired Marty up to a mighty machine
The kilowatts they used were beyond obscene

Ribbit Ribbit! (ribbit ribbit!)
Croaaaaaaaak! (croaaaaaaaak!)
Chirp Chirp Chirp! (chirp chirp chirp!)
Croaky croak. (croaky croak.)

Marty grew mighty under the wizard's care
He became clairvoyant and could fly through the air
But soon his powers began to fade
And the wizard lost interest and threw him away.

Ribbit Ribbit! (ribbit ribbit!)
Croaaaaaaaak! (croaaaaaaaak!)
Chirp Chirp Chirp! (chirp chirp chirp!)
Croaky croak. (croaky croak.)

Poor Marty's time had really run out
His brains and insides had turned to sauerkraut
In preserving his remains, the wizard didn't dwaddle--
And Marty came home inside of a bottle.

And with that, the curtain at the back of the stage was dropped, and there was a frog--quite clearly dead, in a sealed jar of what must have been formaldehyde.

All the frogs stopped their song and dance and froze, with their little arms pointing at the bottle.

The forest was completely silent.

"Aw, we're just pullin' your leg, Louis," croaked the King.

All the members of the Court started laughing hysterically.

"RIBBIT"

I never would have guessed the woods were so deep. Between the subdivisions and the industrial stuff and the railroad tracks and the roads you'd figure it would just be islands of forest all cut off, but somehow I've walked for days, farther and farther into the wilds. I don't think I've even heard or seen a jet lately.

"RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT"

My Chiye-Tanka form sure has its advantages. My extreme body hair keeps me warm, and seems to emit oils that keep the dirt and mud from building up. Plus I've got a natural instinct for what kind of food I can forage, and sometimes I see signs that the leaves and fungi and berries have been grazed by others like me. Is it the Sasquatch? Otherwise, I find no trace of them in the woods.

"RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT"

Definitely, the frog sounds are getting louder. I don't remember hearing them at all back nearer the school, or at @timerlina's place. But each night they've been getting louder. I've been wondering how I'd even fall asleep lately, because they're REALLY loud, but they're also random, and the brain quickly gets kind of hypnotized I guess and falling asleep has been no problem. Some of the best sleeps I've had lately, actually.

"RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT RIBBIT"

"SEE LOUIS SEE LOUIS SEE LOUIS SEE!"

My journey to meet the Sasquatch has truly begun. This morning I received a map, sketched out in coal on the back of a receipt from a 7-11, which was hidden under a log near @timberlina's treehouse. After a hearty breakfast of her home-cured bacon, buckwheat flapjacks, homemade maple syrup, and her own roasted coffee, I began to follow the path to my destiny.

Special markers were left for me in the forest--empty plastic bottles of pop, candy bar wrappers, a very dirty pair of jeans and an old tire were just some of the secret markers. Finally, I came to an encampment hidden off the trail in a copse of trees.

"Ahoy Sasquatch!" I called.

But these were not the people of the forest. Well, not "the" people of the forest, but their guardians. They raised their fists and baseball bats and urged me onward on my journey. I thanked them and continued on deeper into the forest, until it became too dark even for my Chiye-Tanka night vision to find their markers. So, I take my rest under a tree near the railroad tracks, and look forward to another day.

@timberlina sure is hospitable. Not only is she arranging for me to meet up with the Sasquatch, but she's letting me stay in her treehouse for the time being. I haven't spent time in close quarters with another human since I assumed my Chiye-Tanka form, and have been living under a bush in a park for most of that time, so I'm sure I was smelling a bit ripe. But @timberlina let me spend as much time as I wanted using up the hot water and shampoo in her gravity shower. She even convinced me it'd be ok to use her cedar hot tub, which I was nervous about because, you know... hair.

Getting connected to the Sasquatch is quite an endeavor though. They've always been hard to run across, but especially nowadays with the URBP and the immigration issue. There's drop boxes and secret whistles... I shouldn't even be talking about those. Suffice it to say there's a lot of security protocol that goes into meeting up with the Sasquatch, but it seems to be slowly coming to fruition. Can't wait to finally meet them!

I can't believe I missed the Sasquatch Snowball Dance. As soon as I heard about it I bought a bus ticket and started heading back to school. I've been in my Chiye-Tanka form in Prospect Park this whole time, and even though sales from my ice cream cart have kind of tanked for the season, people have been bringing me picnic baskets full of food. It's been a comfortable existence, and my furry coat has kept me warm through the coldest nights. And it's been pretty snowy lately.

But when I heard there was a chance to connect with my adopted people, I came as quickly as I could. Subway to Times Square, then a walk to the Port Authority. I've discovered that moving around in public during the day is much safer than at night. People are more likely to pull a gun when a 7 foot furry humanoid appears out of the shadows than when they can see you coming for a block. I took the seat right behind the driver and plugged in my headphones and settled in for the long drive.

As we got closer and closer to school, the mix of folks on the bus more and more familiar. A family of ghosts, a centaur (taking up the wheelchair spots), a girl with her hair on fire... It was a group of surly leprechauns arguing over the ticket price that ended up pushing us so far behind schedule that I missed the whole Sasquatch Snowball Dance, including the Skunk Apes, and ODORBABY. By the time I got to Mesmer Hall you could still catch their scent, but they were gone.

@timberlina, is it true you're in touch with them? I'd really like to meet them, and since I seem to be a full time Chiye-Tanka these days, I think that they'd accept me? Can you hook me up?

It's been hot in NYC, though not as hot as the demon world at least. So I went in search of cooler and more livable climes. To the fair shores of Brooklyn.

My Chiye-Tanka form still hasn't worn off, so I'm extra hot with my body covered with long brown hair. Lots of panting. Also, my singular musky odor. I could tell it was getting to some people on the subway. But I'm still wearing my Mayan Wrestling Mask, so nobody freaks out about a Bigfoot in the subway station.

I'm still not ready to head back to Psyhigh. So embarrassing to have gotten lost during my airship internship. I am concerned about @Ava Elisabeth though. She's super capable, but it's a big world out there, and they don't take debit cards and the ATM fees are super high.

I lost my wallet back in the demon world when I transformed, so I've been picking up some money selling ice cream from a cart in Prospect Park. It's for a franchise called Murmur's, a Nfrem Holdings LLC company. I found it in the Arcane & Preternatural Want Ads. They were thrilled with my Chiye-Tanka condition and the mask, because they think it will drum up business. But, even on a good day, after I pay back for the stock sold and daily rent on the cart, I hardly make anything. But I sleep in the park at night, so at least rent is free. (I did take a look at the Eerie Airbnb, but it was definitely out of my range.)

Well I had a pretty close call waiting around for @Miranda Ashdove but luckily everything worked out. Kinda.

Even though I was wearing my Mayan Mind Wrestling mask, the demons started to get wise. I was looking busy pretending to file some of their printed-off emails when a few of the guys in the office started making fun of me. The main one was super big, like 8 feet tall, with one big eye and one big horn and three big arms. He looked like he hit the demon gym every night.

They started making fun of me, and I'm not sure why, because they looked pretty dorky themselves in their khakis and dress shirts. But I don't understand demon tongue and I don't understand demon culture anyway.

In any case I did find their remarks rather cutting because I flew into a rage and sure enough turned into my Chiye-Tanka form on the spot. Suddenly I found myself moaning in rage and batting my long furry arms around and kicking my long furry legs and I wrecked their demon office and stomped out of the place.

That felt really good. I was getting sick of that job.

However, when I'm in my Chiye-Tanka form and get in a rage, I get kind of emotional. So I ran and wandered and cried and I think I remember some purple crystal caves, and eventually ended up back above ground.

In New York City.

Hell's Kitchen, to be exact. They call it that because of the very pathway I traveled. I came out in the end of an alley and the demon guardian said "Have an egg!" and I said thank you and wandered into the city.

My Chiye-Tanka form hasn't worn off yet. So I've kept my Mayan Mind Wrestling mask on, because I figure a Big Foot walking around Manhattan in a wrestler's mask will freak people out less than if don't wear it.

When @Miranda Ashdove gets to Demon Land I hope she's not disappointed I'm not there. Maybe she can say hi to her relatives.

Did I mention I don't get along with demons? Well I definitely picked the wrong demon out house/bus stop to wait around in that's for sure.

I entered the little clap trap wooden shack and had a seat on the bench inside and looked through the magazines they had in there. Field & Scream, Popular Theurgy, Pentagrams and You, Eternity... I should have gotten the picture. Suddenly my stomach leapt almost out my mouth as the whole shack shot straight down like an elevator with a broken cable. Eventually it slowed down and eased me to a stop.

I cracked open the door and the heat, stink, flames, and acrid smoke were almost unbearable. Almost. Luckily I had my Mayan Mind Wrestling mask to put on which helps a little.

Since then, I've been wandering. Wandering past pits of screaming souls, crying out with unbearable pain each time they check their phones. Which is continually. Others are force fed energy drinks for hours, then made to program unprogrammable smart TVs. With no bathroom breaks. The list of horrors goes on and on.

Luckily, it must be the ferocious face printed on my Mayan Mind Wrestling mask, but the demons who run this place have let me be. I try and look busy, sorting through stacks of printed emails (written in Enochian) or picking up the dried bones and teeth that litter their offices.

I hope that @Ava Elisabeth made it ok. And it sure makes me wonder what @Miranda Ashdove sees in these people.