Et tu, Assiah?
Ordinary World
Twenty paces and an about face. Twenty paces back, and... no van.
Nails frowned, though -- if he was honest with himself -- he couldn't exactly say he was surprised. Entropy field, right. He risked a glance down at the fingerbone; it was idling at the moment, his concentration on it broken. "Sam," he commanded it, and the thing began spinning wildly out of control. The undead remains of one eyebrow went up. "The kid," he suggested, and instantly the spinning stopped, the bone pointing dead straight back in the direction he had come from.
Right then.
He struggled to remember everything he knew about entropy fields,
(dark, so dark... a flash of red and)
and about the Blood Road in particular. Something to do with the sense of self; that's what the mist was, loss of all visual sitmulus as to location. Only faith would get you out of it. The larger the group or mass moving through, the less it congealed; that's why Nails could no longer see past his waist now he was away from Sam and the van. Will was everything in this place of pure potential, so...
Crouching down, Nails unwound another bone from his hair -- something long and pointed and not human -- and drew a rough circle in the silvery shale around his feet, roughly an arms' length away from his body the whole way around.
"This is my island."
For a moment, there was nothing, then the mists pulled back violently, leaving Nails standing on a small hump of shale in the middle of a calm silver sea.
Well, it was a start.
He picked a handful of small rocks from under his feet, pocketing all but one. "This is the moon. It will show me the way." He threw it high into the mists and waited. Another violent roil and they pulled back, revealing a low-hung crescent just tipping the horizon.
Under the glow of this new beacon, Nails pulled his hat off his head, removing the feather from the band and resting it inside, before floating the whole thing on the gently lapping shore. "This is my boat," he stated, and it was; a small black craft with an iridescent feathery sail. He unwound another bone; this one flat-ended. "And this is my paddle." The ivory oar materialised in his hand.
Gently, he stepped into the boat -- it rocked a little, but seemed secure -- and, keeping one eye on the moon, set off.