As she focused on the map, eyes closed, Seafoam felt almost like she could hear the roll and crash of waves, and the scent of salty brine. The ground seemed to lurch underneath for for a moment, and as her eyes snapped open to catch her balance, the inquisitive navi found herself on what looked like the deck of a small raft, crudely cobbled together with a shallow keel and low guard rails all around. Tall waves dwarfed the tiny raft, lifting and dropping it again while a black storm rumbled and cracked overhead. Huddled in the centre of the raft, a familiar-looking trio of metools hid under their helmets, bopped around like beans in a basket while the storm battered at them. Far off, a rocky cliffside was just visible off the bow of the raft and its single-mast sail was straining in the storm winds as it tugged the tiny craft gradually towards the land.
Shapes moved in between the dark waves, and the raft seemed to be taking on water; one of the trio had begun attempting to bail water, while another fought to keep the sail straight, but they each ended up ducking for cover beneath their helmets again any time the raft lurched badly. It seemed like it might make land, just... or it might not, and that was without dealing with whatever danger lurked in the waters.
For a moment or two, Seafoam was aware of the sense of this being some kind of memory or vision, but then the sense faded and the world around her began to feel and seem real in every way that mattered... though it didn't seem as though the trio of metools cold see her or were aware of her presence in their unfolding story. The question was, what seemed more important for Seafoam to do in this moment?