Eight hours later, the coastline blurred under a thin sheet of mist.
Vencian stood near the railing of the ferry, holding the folded map against his chest. His hair was windblown and the salt air left a film on his skin. The earlier voyage on the larger vessel had been smooth, but this smaller ferry rolled more with the waves.
Roselys stood beside him, quiet as usual, watching the shoreline grow larger. The ferry rocked again as it neared the dock.
"Dalgough Hill should be two miles from the port," she said.
Vencian opened the map. The paper edges had softened from use. "The village lies near the slope," he replied. "There's a main path that circles through the farmland."
The ferry bumped against the landing post. Crew members threw the ropes and lowered the plank.
They stepped down to the pier. The boards creaked under their weight. The port was small, a row of warehouses and boats pulled ashore for repairs. The smell of grain sacks mixed with tar.
