"For Magrat, stepping into a man's bedroom was like an explorer stepping on to that part of the map marked Here Be Dragons."
We passed through several Naga villages, and learned from them that we were not, as we had idly hoped, the first Europeans to come there; a party of five had visited them seven years before. That would be in 1937, we reflected; what eccentrics had they been? Surveyors, prospectors, forestry people, police? I still do not know; but if they were surveyors, I would dearly like to meet them, to tell them what I think of their surveying.
We were now on the fringe of white spaces on the map boldly marked "Unsurveyed" and surrounded with question-marks. It was of this period that we were afterwards alleged to have sent our evening location over the wireless as "Estimated position two miles south of the 'Y' in 'Unsurveyed.'" If we did so, and I have no clear recollection of doing it, we were either: —
a. a different number of miles in a different direction; or
— Brigadier Bernard Fergusson, The Wild Green Earth
In the old days, they didn't know very much about the world. But they made maps anyway. If they had to map something they couldn't, they just drew whatever they felt like and wrote, "Here there be dragons."...
We still don't know very much about the world; and there are things to map of it besides its surface.
Can broken things be remade?
Can destinies change?
Is it worth the risk of hope?
Important questions, but one can only shrug, you see:
Here, there be dragons.
Because some roads you shouldn't go down. Because maps used to say, "There be dragons here." And now they don't. But that don't mean the dragons aren't there.
— Lorne Malvo, "The Crocodile's Dilemma", Fargo