The shadow reached out and touched each of them. Both the Wabbit and Lapinette found themselves on an island - but where was it? "Not much of a place for a reception," scowled the Wabbit. Lapinette nodded in agreement. Then the Voice spoke to them once more. "This is the Island of Love. People have no shadow here." The Wabbit and Lapinette looked all around. "But who are these people?" The voice seemed to smile even though it was only a voice. "They come on boats and leave their shadows behind on their vessel. When they return, they get them back." The people picked their way around the island, looking for something that they couldn't find. Some were couples, some were alone. They drifted around aimlessly. Some picked up sticks, drew messages in the sand then threw the sticks in the sea. But the sticks always floated back to join the untidy heaps of other sticks. "This practice is of great antiquity," said the Voice, "and the sticks have a symbolic function who's meaning we cannot determine." Lapinette nodded gravely. "Perhaps an old man at Creation found himself trapped between Heaven and Earth. He used the stick to push the sky away." The Wabbit put his word in. "That's how sticks became bent." The Voice was silent. Then he said, "There you have it." The Wabbit pounced. "We'll have that drink now."
