Harbors all smelled the same… and this one smelled exactly as Corde remembered it. Salty air, fish *everything*, tar on timber, and the mustiness of rope in various states of 'storm weathered'. It had been seventy-four years since she had stood on this particular dock and watched gulls circling above fishing boats. Designs of craft that looked remarkably unchanged despite the passage of so much time.
Boots turned and trod away on worn pier planks, because she had crossed the great sea with more purpose than to take in the sights of yet another port of call. The ship docked behind her, the Stormcalmer, rocked gently in its berth as the crew she'd spent too many months with moved to unload cargo that she'd been paid premium rates to protect during the crossing.
