The morning frost had not yet dissipated, and the sunshine had just crossed the southern end of the Red Tide Ridge, casting its light upon the vast fields.
In the rye fields, golden waves rippled as they swayed with the wind. Potatoes were piled up like small hills, and droplets of morning dew still clung to the turnip leaves, shimmering with a crystalline glow.
The air was filled with the scent of earth, grain, and a faint aroma of stew; it was the farmers' breakfast.
"Hmm, it smells nice." Louis inhaled deeply, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
He wore a light grey-blue riding outfit, his boots still speckled with dew and mud, yet he paid it no heed.
This land was once barren, now it buzzed with the vitality of a bountiful year.
He walked slowly along the ridges between the fields, raising his eyes to see the rows of wheat heads, neatly aligned and full, as if nodding in greeting to him.
"Sir Louis!" A voice, breathless and tinged with hard work, called out.
