Overswing

Hold to throw your rope at the nearest hook above you. Let go at the right
moment and you fly. Get it wrong and you fall.

That is all of it: one thumb, one finger, no buttons to learn.

Towers and spikes, blocks that patrol the gaps, hooks that crack under your
weight, wind that is a place rather than a moment. On the ground there are
villages, and their archers shoot straight up at the swing, all together, on a
rhythm you can read: cross while they are drawing.

A STORY:
Pip delivered things. Small things, to small places, in a ship held together
by luck and one very good rope. Then he fell.

A chapter for each island, and something to find along the way.