The sea breeze was refreshing and invigorating, a chill wind that wore away at years of oppression and the rhythmic crashing of wave upon wave eased the mind with the lull of constancy. That same tide had been washing in and out since the beginning of time, but it felt different that day. Denrik Zayne breathed deeply of the sea air, filling his lungs. He felt free. It had been a week since he had made landfall, along with his makeshift crew. They were stashed away in a rocky inlet, a few miles south of Scar Harbor. The short cliffs that lay to the north and south of them protected them from the view of mainlanders, and there were enough crevices into them that they could easily conceal themselves when ships were spotted entering and leaving the port to their north. Denrik watched the horizon, not for any pressing need, but rather out of habit—and a feeling of old familiarity. He could almost feel the deck of his old ship, The Honest Merchant, beneath his feet again as he stood at the water’s edge, letting the ocean fill his vision and ignoring the shoreline.
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