In a place far away from Gantrem, in Driis, the waves crashed against each other in a soothing, calming rhythm, their foamy crests rolling onto the warm sand before retreating once more.
The salty breeze carried the scent of the sea through the busy harbor. Ships stood along the shore as they were being cleaned and organized, their wooden hulls creaking softly under the hands of workers.
Foodstuffs were being loaded as men moved in rows, carrying sacks and crates toward the ships. The place looked busy—so busy that one might wonder what exactly was going on.
Not far from them, soldiers marched. Fifty men moved together in steady rhythm, practicing a little before their departure. Their boots pressed firmly into the sand, leaving long lines of prints behind them as the sound of their marching blended with the distant crash of waves.
