Three days of travel brought them to Saltmere, the coastal town Aldric had mentioned.
It was exactly as promised: quiet, practical, focused on the daily work of fishing and farming. The kind of place where people cared more about whether you could cook well than where your tools came from.
They found lodging at a weathered inn near the docks, and Marron set up her cart in the town square the next morning. Just simple cooking—fish stew, grilled catches from the morning boats, bread bought fresh from the local baker.
Aldric watched from a nearby bench, notebook open, occasionally writing things down. But he wasn't intrusive. Wasn't hovering. Just... present. Observing the way he'd promised.
By the third day in Saltmere, Marron had almost forgotten he was reporting to the Council. He felt less like a supervisor and more like a quiet companion who happened to be there.
That afternoon, after the lunch crowd dispersed, Aldric approached the cart.
