It had three masts, sky-lofty and all of a size; but his observation was not trained to note the difference between them and the one long and the one short mast of the _Arangi_.

The one floating world he had known was the white-painted _Arangi_.

And, since, without a quiver of doubt, this was the _Arangi_, then, on board, would be his beloved Skipper.

If _Arangis_ could resurrect, then could Skippers resurrect, and in utter faith that the head of nothingness he had last seen on Bashti's knees he would find again rejoined to its body and its two legs on the deck of the white-painted floating world, he waded out to his depth, and, swimming dared the sea.
He greatly dared, for in venturing the water he broke one of the greatest and earliest taboos he had learned.

In his vocabulary was no word for "crocodile"; yet in his thought, as potent as any utterable word, was an image of dreadful import--an image of a log awash that was not a log and that was alive, that could swim upon the surface, under the surface, and haul out across the dry land, that was huge-toothed, mighty-mawed, and certain death to a swimming dog.
But he continued the breaking of the taboo without fear.