A puddle of greenish blue liquid. At just the right angle, a purple shimmer refracts off the surface. No one quite knows how deep the puddle goes. A fresh and familiar smell emanates from it, like an early spring morning.
Whenever I find myself pacing about, stressing about whether to hum to the towelette or study in the library, laying down next to the puddle instantly relaxes me. I feel as tranquil as its perfectly still surface. I make a few beds out of leaves near the edge, I encourage y'all to use them.
I have a theory I'm itching to test. Or maybe I'm just entranced by the smell. Whichever it may be, it outweighs my sense of caution, and I take my first slow step into the puddle. The water is a perfectly refreshing temperature. As I make my way deeper, the glistening surface remains completely flat, without even a ripple. I'm forced to shield my eyes as the purple shine intensifies. I blindly swim forward a short ways (this puddle is bigger than I thought!). When my feet feel the bottom again, the ground's texture feels... different, somehow. The light fades, and I walk among the cattails as I slowly emerge from the water. Straight ahead there is a looming wooden structure. That wasn't there before - must be some kind of puddle-induced mirage. Confused and a little afraid, I approach it to get a better look... wait... it's starting to look familiar. It slowly dawns on me where I am - I'm right next to the northeast outpost. And I must have emerged from the watering hole just west of here.
I lie down. My head is spinning from what just happened, and from the smell.