I awoke the next morning refreshed and, to be honest, reasonably full of hope that I was getting toward the end of this godforsaken literature voyage, or at least to the part where we got to the city and were pampered by leggy brunettes and blandly handsome guys in muscle t-shirts. The Woodsman insisted that the countryside around the Emerald City was beautiful, and as far as I could tell, the landscape across the river certainly fit the bill. It looked idyllic as balls.

He was just finishing up with the raft (he didn’t need sleep any more than the Scarecrow did, and had been working on it all night, bless the little empty compartment where he was supposed to have a heart). We all climbed onto it, and the whole thing damn near tipped over when the Lion stepped on board. But the rest of us stood up on the other side and just barely managed to balance the craft out. The Woodsman and Scarecrow had long poles, and started pushing the raft into the water.

It worked pretty well at first. But once we reached the middle of the river, the water grew so deep that the poles couldn’t reach the bottom. The current here was swifter, and carried us downstream, farther and farther from the Yellow Brick Road.

“This is bad,” the Woodsman said. “If we cannot get to the land we shall be carried into the country of the Wicked Witch of the West, and she will enchant us and make us her slaves.”

“And then I should get no brains,” said the Scarecrow.

“And I should get no courage,” said the Cowardly Lion.

“And I should get no heart,” said the Tin Woodsman.

“Yeah,” I said, “and also THE PART ABOUT THE WITCH MAKING US HER SLAVES.”

“We must certainly get to the Emerald City if we can,” the Scarecrow continued. He pushed so hard on his long pole that it stuck in the mud at the bottom of the river. Then, before he could pull it out again—or let go—the raft was swept away, and the Scarecrow was left clinging to the pole in the middle of the river.

“Goodbye!” he called after us.

“Scarecrow!” I yelled.

“Oh, poor, noble Scarecrow,” the Tin Woodsman sniffled as we floated further down the river and our companion fell out of sight. “The irony! Rescued from one pole, only to be left on another, to live out the rest of his days abandoned forever.”

“We’re not abandoning him forever,” I said. “Also, dry your tears on my hoodie or something. He still has your oilcan.”

“Something must be done to save us,” the Lion said. “I think I can swim to the shore and pull the raft after me, if you will only hold fast to the tip of my tail.”

He sprang into the water, and the Woodsman grabbed his tail. Then the Lion began to swim toward the shore with all his might. It looked like pretty hard work, but the raft was slowly drawn out of the current, at which point I took the Woodsman’s pole and helped push the rest of the way to land.

We were all pretty wiped out (or, those of us with muscles and ligaments were, at least), and the stream had carried us God knows how far past the road that led to the Emerald City.

“What shall we do now?” the Tin Woodsman asked.

“We’ll walk along the riverbank back toward the road,” I said, “and hope we can spot the Scarecrow from the shore as we go.” We moved as fast as we could, and even though I was pretty worried about the Scarecrow, I had to admit that the countryside was straight-up lovely. I mean, I didn’t usually go in for all that lush, flowery bullshit, but these ones were so big and colorful it was almost hypnotic.

After what felt like hours, the Woodsman cried out. “Look!”

There, in the middle of the water, was the Scarecrow, perched motionless upon his pole, looking all lonely and sad.

“Abandoned forever!” the Woodsman cried. “Without brains, without hope, without even the crows to keep him—”

“Okay, ENOUGH with the abandoned forever crap! Lion, can you swim out and fetch him?”

“I’m afraid it would be no use,” the Lion said. “Even if I had strength left to brave the river once more, my entire body save for my nose sinks below the surface when I swim. If the Scarecrow were submerged so, I fear the swift current would wash all the stuffing right out of him.”

“Okay, he might be abandoned forever.” I sat on the river’s bank and tried to come up with some kind of plan while the Woodsman and Lion gazed wistfully at the Scarecrow. Eventually, some random stork flew by and stopped to rest at the water’s edge.

“Who are you and where are you going?” the Stork asked.

Talking stork? Sure, why not? “Arabella,” I said, too tired to waste any energy arguing with a bird. “Er, I mean Dorothy. These are my friends, the Tin Woodsman and Cowardly Lion. We’re trying to get to the Emerald City.”

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The Stork twisted her long neck and looked sharply at the group of us. “This isn’t the road,” she said.

“I know it isn’t the road!” Ugh. “We lost our other friend out in the middle of the river, and are trying to figure out how to get him back on dry land.”

“Hmm,” she said, craning her neck to look across the water to where the Scarecrow was perched. “If he wasn’t so big and heavy I would get him for you.”

“He’s not heavy at all! He’s entirely stuffed with straw. Barely weighs a thing!”

“Well, I’ll try,” the Stork said, launching into the air. “But if I find he is too heavy to carry I shall have to drop him back in the river!”

“Wait! Don’t…” It was too late. She was off.

The big bird flew over the water until she came to the Scarecrow, then grabbed him by the arm with her claws and carried him back to the bank. When the Scarecrow found himself among his friends again, he was so deliriously happy that he hugged every single one of us, up to and including Toto.

“Tol-de-ri-de-oh!” he sang. “I was afraid I should have to stay in the river forever! But the kind Stork saved me, and if I ever get any brains I shall find the Stork again and do her some kindness in return.”

“That’s all right,” said the Stork. “I always like to help anyone in trouble.”

She seemed kind of great, actually. “So, how does this work?” I asked. “Do you join up with us now? Do you have any missing organs or personality traits you’d like to ask a wizard for?”

“I’m afraid I must go,” the Stork said, “for my babies are waiting in the nest for me.”

“Wait. Do you mean stork babies or human babies?” Storks were, like, the fairy tale euphemism for childbirth, right? “You know what, never mind. I don’t think I even want to know.”

“I hope you will find the Emerald City and that Oz will help you,” the Stork said. Then she flew into the air and was soon out of sight.

We continued walking upriver toward the road. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and huge flowers in red, yellow, white, blue, and purple became so thick that the ground was more or less carpeted with them. The aroma was almost… spicy.

“That smells kind of good,” I said. “Right?”

“I suppose,” answered the Scarecrow. “When I have brains, I shall probably like them better.”

“If I only had a heart, I should love them,” added the Tin Woodsman.

His whole heartsick routine should have been wearing thin by that point, but to be honest I just found it endearing. I was exhausted and more than a little lightheaded from the overpowering flower smell, and just then all was right with the world.

“I always did like flowers,” the Lion said. “They seem so helpless and frail. But there are none in the forest so bright as these.”

There were more and more red flowers as we walked on, and fewer and fewer of the other colors. Before long the red ones had entirely choked the other flowers out. “Hold on a minute,” I said. My eyelids were getting so heavy I could barely keep them open. “What kind of flowers are these?”

Poppies, poppies, poppies.

“It’s opium! The spicy red flower stink is opium! Run, you guys! We have to run!”

I stumbled trying to move forward, so the Tin Woodsman and Scarecrow each grabbed me by an arm and pulled me along. I kept catching myself drifting off, and tried to jerk my head to force myself awake. It was okay, though, because I suddenly realized I didn’t need to walk. I could just float along casually, and didn’t even need to be afraid of the flowers, because every single one of them was wearing a miniature black peacoat and asking me if I had a light.

“Dorothy, wake up!” the Scarecrow shouted, severely harshing my buzz.

“It’s fine, I’m not asleepy. Sleepytime… good. ’Sall bermanerma.”

“What shall we do?” asked the Tin Woodsman. I was still vaguely aware of my surroundings, but very clearly losing my battle with slumber.

“If we leave her here she will die,” said the Lion. “The smell of the flowers is killing us all. I myself can scarcely keep my eyes open, and the dog is asleep already.”

I wrenched one eye open and saw that Toto was indeed curled up in the flowers. I have to tell you that at that moment I straight-up envied the little son of a bitch.

“Run fast,” the Scarecrow said to the Lion, “and get out of this deadly flower bed as soon as you can. We will bring the girl with us, but if you should fall asleep you are too big to be carried.”

The Lion bounded forward as fast as he could go, and disappeared. The Scarecrow and Woodsman crammed Toto into my lap and kind of made a chair out of their arms, carrying me through the flowers as quickly as they could. We followed the bend of the river for a few minutes, and just as I was sure I couldn’t stay awake a minute longer, we found the Lion lying fast asleep among the poppies.

The Scarecrow gasped.

“We can do nothing for him,” said the Tin Woodsman, sadly. “For he is much too heavy to lift. We must leave him here to sleep, abandoned forever, and perhaps he will dream that he has found courage at last.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Scarecrow. “The Lion was a very good comrade for one so cowardly.”

“No, wait, it’s fine,” I said through a yawn. The sleeping Lion looked to me like an incredibly comfortable bed just then. “The Good Witch saves us. Pretty witch… superimposed over the whole screen. Snow or… something. All… goooood…”

Consciousness deserted me at last.