In March, the last vestiges of winter's chill were scattered by a sea breeze from the south.
Minas Tirith Port was busier than usual. The docks were a clamor of voices as newly painted wooden cranes creaked, hoisting one crate of cargo after another from the ships' holds to the shore.
Ships from the Dawn Territory had become a common sight here. A dozen or so merchant vessels, flying the crest of the Dawn Territory, were queued up to unload their cargo. Their crews haggled with local workers in the continental common tongue, their words tinged with southern accents.
Crate after crate of sealed goods were carried off the ships, their destination marked as the Newly Cultivated Land.
