***Aldrik***
I don't remember most of the journey.
Three days of riding alone, the landscape changing from the familiar hills of Draven lands to flatter terrain, then finally the smell of salt in the air. I registered none of it, I just sat on the horse and let it carry me wherever Father had decided I needed to go.
The coast.
Sea air.
Like fresh air could fix what was broken inside me.
Sailcrest was small, that was the first thing I noticed when we finally arrived, small and weathered and smelling overwhelmingly of fish and salt. Colorful boats in the harbor, seabirds screaming overhead, fishermen calling to each other across the docks.
Loud and alive.
I hated it immediately.
I checked into the only inn, a modest establishment near the harbor run by a round-faced woman named Petra who immediately tried to engage me in conversation about the weather, the fishing season, whether I was visiting or staying permanently.
