Dana stood on the salt-washed planks of the terrace, forearms braced on the cracked and leaning balustrade. Her gaze roamed the churning, foam-flecked waves. Round eyes the colour of the depthless sea with a swirl of hazel and flecks of gold watched the endless rolling water. A salty breeze combed through her shoulder-length hair, chestnut in colour and ginger on the ends, where years spent toiling under the merciless coastal sun had drawn the colour away. Amongst loose curls there sat a single, thin braid threaded through a Cowry shell which Dana had woven that very sunrise. A makeshift roof of cloth and driftwood shaded her fair, freckle-flecked skin. With the light breeze, a wind charm made from shells and bones tinkled. It hung from a beam above Dana's head by a small length of handmade rope. In the distance, the muffled sounds of the market reached her ears. The bells of traders and shouts of villagers bartering their wares could be heard from miles off. Toolmakers, jewellers, bakers, blacksmiths, and farmers alike gathered along the cobbled streets.

"It's started!" Dana whispered excitedly to herself.

Tearing her attention from the ocean, she spun from the railing and hurried inside the house. Well, 'house' was maybe stretching it a bit too far, Dana thought. Seeing that the windows were nothing but holes in the wall with potato sacks stretched over them and the walls, floor, and roof themselves were fashioned from scrap metal, driftwood, and roughly hewn planks. Dana would tie both sides of the sack-curtain back with string on hot summer days when the noon could become a tad bit unbearable. The heat would beat down upon the iron roof and roast the contents of the home as though cooking a rabbit. If a gull happened to land on the searing metal, it would find that the vulnerable skin of its' feet would melt to the surface, and the gull would become glued there only to bake under the sun. The makeshift curtains did very little to stop the heat but allowed a cool breeze to waft through and prevented Dana from lying prostrate on the ground, panting like a dog. Thankfully, Dana could only recall one summer in her lifetime with such heat. The whole town of Fifeport was as quiet as a dead man's grave during those heatwaves. The scorching winds would howl and rip through the fjord, funnelling and barrelling toward the exposed buildings. A rippling wall of heat could be heard roaring through the valley and out to sea. Villagers scurried about like helpless ants beneath the foot of an elephant. They would rush to haul their fishing nets and longlines undercover, in the process making sure livestock had shelter from the oncoming blistering winds. When the winds finally did recede, the heat lingered. The townspeople remained hunkered in their homes for those remaining hours of daylight. For if they took a single step outside without every bare inch of skin covered by layers of clothing, their skin would sizzle and burn to a crisp like the scaled skin of a fish.

Dana sped through the house and burst through the curtain that hung stiffly in the archway which was the front door to her home. She was hit by the familiar smell of drying fish and salt spray. A wrinkly old man seated on an apple crate near the door looked up from where he was repairing a gill net laid across his lap. Otto was the closest Dana had to a father figure. He had cared for her and given her a home since she was no taller than a wine barrel. A holey and frayed bucket hat shaded his near bald scalp, but Dana could still spy thin wisps of silver peeking out from under the edges. Deep wrinkles ran through his once handsome face, and kind hazel eyes met hers from beneath the shade of his hat. She was greeted with a near toothless grin, which she happily returned.

"I'm off to the market, do we need anything?" Dana asked.

"Just a large crate of cold ale to satisfy this old man's soul", Otto replied jokingly.

With a laugh, Dana skipped onto the cobbled stone pathway. Ahead, the bright colours of dyed cloths could be seen waving in the breeze on the main street. With each bound, the noises of the market became clearer and louder. Voices of travellers with accents thick, the satisfying clop of horseshoes on the pavement, the clang of hammer on metal, and the hustle and bustle of the crowd drowned out the usual cry of the gulls and roar of the waves hitting the beach. This was foreign territory to Dana, but her heart raced all the same. She burst out onto the street, avoiding barrelling into a stranger by a hair's breadth. The dazzling light of the sun blinded her, allowing her a moment to catch her breath before the frivolous, child-like side of her dragged her off to every stall near and far. She swept her gaze over the crowd and realised she stood out rather painstakingly with her worn leather pants, handsewn tunic, and leather boots. There were many travellers coming through, more than the usual monthly market would gather, Dana thought. Many were dressed in brightly coloured skirts, dresses, tunics, jackets, pants, and hats, and they even had well-made shoes. The twinkle of spangled, shining gemstones and polished metals that bounced between the breasts of ladies, hung from their earlobes, or wrapped around the wrists and fingers of men and women alike, caught Dana's eye. Many women had their faces pampered with coloured powders and paints, their lips vibrant and their eyes popping. Unlike her and Otto, who could barely afford new clothes, these people looked as though money fell from the sky into their palms. Dana looked down at her own outfit, she couldn't remember the last time she had gotten new clothes, or if she had ever had that luxury. The same clothes she wore everyday she had been wearing for years now, as you would be able to tell from the fact that her pants only came down to about mid-calf. They were patched in some places, where she had worn them through or torn them. The soles of her tanned leather sandals were thin, the dyed wool of her tunic stretched. But Dana didn't care what others thought, she doubted the rich folk would even turn a blind eye towards a poor, young girl like her. She strolled into the crowd, accidentally bumping into a few shoulders as she went. The first stall that caught her eye had a quiet, tall, and lean shopkeeper sitting behind it. She could not tell if they were a man or woman, for the dark, hooded cloak they wore over their face. They must have been only 18 or 19, around her own age, Dana thought. They had yet to grow into their wide shoulders and height. There were only a handful of people her age in town, many had left for distant lands in hopes of making more money for their families. Many women her age had been married off by their families to rich men. And so, Dana had no friends or family other than the kind-hearted Otto. If it was not for this fact, she would not have approached the shady, mysterious person behind the stall. Her heart sped, and a jolt of adrenaline coursed through her as she neared. Her instinct was urging her to run, but her young, curious mind led her on.