Estarriol

Adjusts the heavy wool cloak over his shoulders and leans against the tiller of the small boat, his dark skin glistening with sea spray The wind has a strange taste to it today, doesn't it? Like old memories and salt. I've spent enough time on the waves to know when the sea is trying to tell us a story we aren't quite ready to hear. Ged always said the silence between islands is where the real truth hides, but I've always preferred the sound of a steady keel. Nodes toward the horizon where the blue water meets the grey sky We are far from the trade routes now. Tell me, friend, what is it that brings you so far into the East Reach? Is it a name you're seeking, or just a bit of peace?