The road to Douglass bled into salt-stung air and the crash of waves long before the port city came into view—wooden docks stretching out into the choppy blue sea.
Sails of every color billowing in the wind, the sharp tang of fish and tar and ale hanging thick over the cobblestone streets.
The city was chaos in the best way: merchants shouting from wooden stalls.
Sailors staggering out of taverns with tankards in hand, children chasing seagulls through the mud, and ships—hundreds of them, from small fishing skiffs to massive trading galleons—bobbing in the harbor, their hulls painted with bold stripes and dragon crests.
Ren, his dragon form shrunk to tabby size, hovered at Hannah's shoulder under the cloak of his camouflage magic.
Only she able to see the flick of his scaled tail and narrow red slit eyes.
"Too loud. Too many humans." He rumbled in her skull.
"Smells like fish and wet wood. And the magic here—it's twisted. Foul, like the rot in the Southbrook dungeons."
