Day did not really arrive. The starless darkness of night merely lightened into a lighter grey fog that we designated as dawn more because we needed a morning than because it felt as if the day had come.
Ginnie brought the airship low enough that we could make out details of the risen city. It was clotted with mud and the corpses of sea creatures that had not survived the transition from the unknown depths. The air was thick with the stench of rotting, the rotting of the freshly dead and the rotting of things that had lain undisturbed for centuries.
Quint brought out the snowshoe-like foot wear that he and Barth and Len Wei had been crafting. The wide webbed soles would, ideally, keep us from sinking in the putrid mud. Cyrus had not had such help but he had the guidance of his dreams. Hopefully they would keep him safe until we caught up.