Maeve
Snow was falling in thick, heavy sheets as we walked along the dock, our footsteps absorbed into the vacuum of total and complete silence that accompanied such weather. I could barely see the village through the snow, just hints of the multi-colored cabins that were nestled near the shore. The snow was heavy, sliding from the metal roofs as the cabins warmed within and wood-smoked funneled through chimneys.
My steps felt unsteady as I walked, not used to being on solid ground after five weeks at sea. The journey took longer than we expected, having met bad weather as we passed through the Isles and various challenges with the boat as we crept through the ice filled water of the north-eastern coastline. There had been a few times we had almost given up, debating whether to turn west and seek refuge in Breles, unsure of what awaited us if we stayed east and landed in Valoria.
But none of that mattered anymore.
I was home.
