24

Pontis Maari is what Mr. Tastaren said.

Even in the distance I can see the high dark stone walls that seem to touch the sky. A moment of curiosity strikes me and I wonder who built it and why.

I can smell the sea from here, and if I pay close attention I can hear it too, but I can't see it.

We are close to the sea.

The road to the capital was almost empty. A few equally closed carts, and others open, passed us. I could hear the man leading the horses greeting the others with a short sort of whistle.

I don't know how long it took from the port to here. I don't even know what time of day it is. But there is still sun. A weak, squalid sun that doesn't offer much resistance to the cold wind or metal-colored clouds.

I stick my hands into the thin fabric of my dress to warm them.

My feet aren't so lucky, and I grumble at myself for ripping off all that hem fabric that could very well have warmed them.

The trees become scarcer as we get closer to the walls until they become squares of stone