We await their return. It is an anxious time, this UP, a time in which preparations and advancements are measured simultaneously. Our hours have met with few setbacks. The achievements have piled. When one mentions preparations, there is this idea that all other work stops, that what one has is enough to shape, protect, to defend, and comfort—there is no stoppage in pursuit. We, of course, understand the ways in which this is redundant. We are recording. The ways Anchorage works for us. Since we fenced the remains, there have been signs of life on the tapes. Once we had become accustomed to the practice and routine of the monitor, we agreed upon distance from the site. Settlements were moved closer to the bay. One reason was, our urge to take on water. Another was, set back from this turning point for us Elk, there is this view, this view of the operations at hand, the operations working toward the future, working through the present, this seemingly indivisible (what has now become the only block we take notice of, one without color), one without scale.
Antlers that do remain oversee this intersection of all that we have been forced to learn from this UP. Although we have no experience in understanding this desired submersion, we do, however, understand it as vital. Not only for progress, but for our defense against their return. There is no surveillance. The Beavers have strayed beyond our range, beyond where we are willing go. They have used water in a unique way. This method we have watched. It is almost as if that is from where they come. It is where the Beavers will come from when they arrive. We are almost sure. Perhaps our attention to detail suffered. Once the fact of water made its way through the necessary channels—our communication suffers its clarity for time—there was a rather large relocation. The S ended. The Beavers, gone. Now, there was more of a possibility than ever for some of the satellites and scouts to return home. What follows is a necessary push.       What we mean is, our priorities shifted. There were no further improvements made to our original intent. To record and facilitate widespread knowledge of the Luggage and the Architect. What both things left us to disseminate. This line of thinking had nothing to do with water, nothing that could be derived from physical impossibility. We still had them to use. Antlers, of sorts.       Adaptability is one of our most enviable traits. We prefer the seamless transition. And the water, the very fact that it was once covered. Now it has settled. Enough for us to try. To make this work. The Volunteers arrived out of curiosity. There were no advertisements, no recruitment. They simply asked for this. They were interested in what would. Appearing to understand the ramifications of what they asked, Antlers considered signage—an acknowledgement that the liability was that of the Volunteers—of this appearing to understand.       We do not underestimate the Volunteers’ appearance of knowledge and their natural right to sign off, to undergo treatment. The Operators (those that remain antlered and have, as part of their training, refused the Turtles) are a grueling, isolated crew, with the utmost efficiency in mind. Their work is a solemn task. It involves all four hooves. Their Antlers remain as a standard to uphold—a standard to which a majority will never be held again. The water has become a kind of refuge, a place of reflection, of repetition. We enjoy the sound. We do require those Elk that do take to the water remove their Antlers prior to entering. Once Antlers are removed, an Elk can no longer seek Turtles. But the water has proven a challenge to our anatomical effectiveness in alternative situations. Now we understand that the removal of the hoof is not a viable improvement to the technique.       What appears to be the goal of this newfound location into which our energies are being poured, despite the continuing operations at the Fence, is complete submersion. This underneath lasts for us only so long. It has something to do with our legs. Understanding the anatomy of those that can sustain under helps. We have few examples at hand, skeletons dug up since the departure. Since they left us to clean up the mess. They have what appear to be paddlelike feet and much shorter legs. Nothing grows beyond their ears. We know they are rooted. They are parts of our skull. There is no need to be rash about their removal. This is, inevitably, for the further adaptability of Elk. Our march toward full submersion with sustainability continues. Streamlining, the dissolution of major areas, panskeleton (not excluding and/or limited to fur treatments), was met with considerable resistance among the populace. They claimed the Volunteers had been duped. We know this reaction has something to do with the fear that the Beavers will return. This was explained in the simplest of terms. Without defense advancements, we are in jeopardy from a number of things. The Beavers desire cessation of the sound of water. They crave this. They continually construct what could otherwise be left alone. The first wore muzzles with larger holes bored out in order to accommodate nostrilsize. Snorting, is an important means of release for Elk. It helps us communicate our engagement. More drilling than sawing was done. This was, by no means, carpentry. This root removal, without damaging, this tacking down of hooves in order to secure the Volunteer without infection, the preparation of the fur, all of these items, or lines of thought were expanded and improved upon, operation to operation. Other anatomical alterations were suggested after the first removals. The Operators, in fact, changed the system. They did this without approval from Antlers and retooled the structure of the program. What was decided, then, was to split into factions, in order to, what we would say, represent a complete hoof. We contend the split is to our advantage, our adaptability. Two toes, one hoof.      The Operators operate as long as they are Operators. This drives the new way of thinking. The others remain nameless, in order to conduct business without sound. The others simply vanish into the unknown workspace. They create adaptable, prosthetic additions/subtractions, in order to enhance the water experience, in order to further the purpose of the intent.
	The Architect was the former core of our belief. This UP, however, stalled historical development, our thoughtline in regards to our operations at, around and near the former site of the great hall. At least things have sped up of late. An Antler Wall was commissioned by Operators not in operation. The portion of the faction that had split. They do all appear to be in agreement as to the conditions they work under. There was loss. At first, more than we would have liked. The tools we had fashioned for this precise purpose often slipped in the Operator’s hoofsplit. There was blood letting, blood containment. Tools were broken. Then they were fixed. We store, on site, up to fifty bloodbarrels. Antler storage was another issue.      The root of our decision to cross this threshold, to unearth what is buried in fur would be commemorated through the construction of an alternative cover, natural containment-front at the former site of the great hall.
During S, the Beavers had all but silenced the Turtles. We knew. They were there. We discussed this, as a body of Elk. They take to the water in a different fashion. They do not leave their teeth behind, nor is it in their best interest to construct what ultimately destroys.      They prefer a slow proliferation, not the hasty manner of Beavers. The Turtles began speaking to Antlers, PS, regarding operations for the new epoch. Their suggestion to move quickly, as the Crumbling began, surround and set up our units. This effectively pushed the Beavers out, toward the neighboring regions, and birthed the possibility of attack. They have, after all, been around longer than we. The Turtles said they would realize, the Beavers would, that there are certain things they cannot chew through. The materials we used in the Operation were not chewable.      These things were designed to remain.

marc t. wise lives in Salt Lake City, Utah. His work has been published in Gigantic magazine.