The first snow of December fell upon the Royal Capital.
The flakes mingled with the wind blowing in from the sea, striking one's face with a damp chill.
The port had ceased operations. Hog was directing his apprentices, loading one snow-dusted box after another onto the carriages of the Golden Sail Commerce Association.
The wheels crunched crisply as they rolled over a thin layer of ice.
On a street corner, Tristan stood beside Velin. Neither spoke.
He watched the craftsmen who were about to embark on a long journey. Their faces held no sorrow for leaving their homeland, but rather a kind of feverish excitement.
For the past few days, Velin had accompanied Tristan, exploring much of the Royal Capital on foot.
From the slick cobblestone paths of the wharf district to the great oak doors of the artisan quarter.
From the steps of the council plaza to the flickering oil lamps of the underground black market.
