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An endless treetop sea... A ship with a hull of painted leviathan bone cuts across the waves, the underslung chainsaw at the prow tearing a furrow through blossoms and branches that regrow before it crosses the horizon. The crew are a motley - a humoresque cactoid at the helm, an ancient woman with a voluminous scarf and a laugh like thunder on watch, and a hive-mind of spiders slipping in and out of a silken skin as it tends to the wheezing engine. There were more of them once, but the wilds are a bright and hungry place. Foxes leap like dolphins off the port side, snapping at dragonflies and living whispers that dance on the spore-choked breeze. Parasitic flowers open their blooms to the sun, their larger and more ambulatory cousins hidden by the tangle below. A distant port built onto a shattered monastery sounds its bells, calling any who hear it to a festival of teeth. And there's a scent of promise to the air, something that brings to mind blood and honey and hope. With a flur...