The fire roared in the dark of the forest. The flames danced and cast flickering shadows on the trees surrounding the camp. The boar’s corpse turned slowly over the flames, licked by amber tongues as they hissed with each drop of fat that dripped off the meat. Beros sat to the side, rotating the spit and prodding the pig’s flesh occasionally with the tip of an arrow. Each time the arrowhead sank in with greater ease than before, but the hunter remained unsatisfied. When the fire seemed to be getting low he would reach in and sort the hodgepodge of twigs and broken branches by hand, protected by a pair of worn and dirtied golden gloves, red gems glistening on the back of each hand.
Gali’s brain may as well have been made of lead. Or maybe he now knew how the sea felt, propping up the continents.
Garvin was a sprawling metropolis covering fifty densely-packed square miles. Thousands of ships dotted the azure blue ocean landscape. A vast swell of vessels were in the process of unloading, queuing, docking, or departing the area. It was mega commerce of the highest degree. Winter figured the city wasn’t as large as Earth ports like San Francisco, New York City, or Singapore, but the sheer magnitude of ocean craft was probably greater.
“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Tulla’s annoyance was thick, her words laced with aggravation and the hint of a temper.
“No we’re not. I told you, we’re right here,” Dego said, planting a finger firmly in the middle of a forest. He drifted slightly to the side, then slightly down and eventually took his finger off before he added more fuel to Tulla’s rage. “We’ll be there soon.”
The table was covered in potatoes and carrots, leaks and radishes, vegetables that Tulla had never seen or handled before. Peri had introduced each to her as he chopped them up and dropped them in a soup, and after tasting the broth she decided that she was glad she had never seen them before. She liked the sweet roots that could be harvested on the island in the depths of the woods, the mushrooms and turnips that boars hunted for in the ground. Those were proper vegetables.
At first glance, I was not quite sure if I was hallucinating. Some of the men partook in Ulyrian Truffle, but I did not find reality overbearing to the point where I wanted to fill my vision with wild colours and ghosts. I blinked twice and the spectre-like figure was still there, completely clad in black.