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For it takes some nerve and courage to journey on into the empty blue, your own water supplies getting lower, and with not a wisp of a cloud in sight. But on you go, sailing on the solar wind. Maybe a breeze blows up, too; so you open the wind sails to catch the uplift and speed on into the void. You pass islands, some above you, some beneath. Some are close enough for you to be in their shadow; others are far below, in regions to which you never venture. There are different, hotter lands down there, with different kinds of people in them. If you went on descending, you would eventually come to islands so blisteringly hot that nothing human lives there, just plants and reptiles and the sky-fish of the deep, with skin like cooked leather. Or so people say. Only, if nothing human can live down there, how would anything human know?
Perhaps, as you sail on, a shoal of sky-fish passes. If you throw a line over the side, baited with a juicy insect or two, you can catch a meal; if you throw a net over, you'll catch a feast.
Or maybe a sky-jelly will come into view, drifting on the air, almost transparent, a great bulbous mass of pulsating veins. Its tendrils trail underneath it, stretching down for hundreds of metres. As long as it's not one of the poisonous varieties, you can haul it in and cook it. Sky-jellies are mostly water. They may not sound too appetising, but you'll devour them when you're hungry and thirsty enough.