Ages ago, a small man named Mirth floated among pieces of ship-wreckage drifting ashore on the uncharted island of Tearabar(r) (teer-a-bar). Beneath the canopy of the island's only shelter, a benevolent willow tree, the sole-survivor lay unconscious for three days. An underwater nightmare haunted his sleep; chalky gray bodies of wedding guests and his bride-to-be floated above deck-chairs on a sunken ship. On the fourth morning, Mirth's eyes startled awake. The sky shone clear blue above, yet a misty fog hovered around him in the myriad of branches. Mirth sat up, wiped his tears, and felt...