The road on fire
Conch Fritter Ferry
There is a small island floating next to the Knot inhabited by a tribe of small mismatched hobs. They appear as if someone took several island myths chewed them up and spat them back out. None of the tribe stands taller then a foot. The tribe desperately tries to paddle their island into the open Arcadian sea but every time they manage any significant distance something happens to bring them back.
Sometimes a large swell pushes them, sometimes its a storm, or giant fish, or some fishing line hooks them and reels them back. Sometimes the Knot just reaches out and sets them back down.
The tribe speaks no intelligible language and is more or less hostile to outsiders.