Lightning crackled far to the north, and the ferryman Gareth squinted at
the skies, his far-seeing eyes accustomed to the many variations in
weather. This was different, he noted, as his skin prickled and hair
stood on end. It was as though he could sense a great shift of magical
energy in the distance. An omen, indeed.

The ferryman's thoughts turned to his friends, who even now journeyed
north to their new posts. Squaring his shoulders, he filled his lungs
and gave a powerful shout of encouragement: "Good luck at your northern
posts, brothers and sister. May the seas carry you swiftly between your
destinations, and hail to the Ocean Lord!"

Gareth's words carried far, and the small group was encouraged in their
northern trek. As they crossed the tundra, they could see that the
magical barrier separating the northern reaches of Sapience from the
rest of the continent had somehow shifted, allowing travellers to reach
the northeastern coast on foot. When they finally went their separate
ways, Iyana and Otonu toward Kamleikan, and Sargen and Harrad toward the
shore near Tenwat Prison, they bore a warmth in their hearts that would
sustain them through the long, frigid days to come.

Penned by My hand on the 11th of Daedalan, in the year 530 AF.