A chain of sandbars off the coast, with an old coral-and-rock outcrop rising from the middle of it. The sand is not sand so much as a carpet of crabs — thousands of them, every shape and colour — and the whole beach appears to be squirming.
They are ruled by a large pinkish-mauve crab with one enormous pincer and the other torn off, who styles himself King Crab and runs the place on a law of equivalent exchange.
Found here: a skeletal arm reaching up out of the sand, bleached and covered in crab scratches, wearing a hemp-and-shell bracelet with with all my love to Maru scratched into the largest shell. The crabs dug further on request and uncovered the salt-crusted ribs of a longboat buried a very long time ago.
Do not return. Several of the crabs wear rubber bands on their claws and know how to use them.
Visited twice: Session 1.