"You bear a striking resemblance to your mother, Thalia and your strength matches hers," she murmured.
I carefully unzipped my clothes, grabbed a white towel from a small drawer, draped it over my chest, and made my way toward the bathroom.
Inside the bathroom, the distant sound of the island gong echoed through the air.
Every evening, the islanders gathered in the open square, which they also use as a marketplace for trade by batter. They gathered there after dinner to listen to a variety of stories from the adults, spanning from folktales to mystical legends. Margret hadn't missed a single gathering since my arrival.
From the square, the resonant clang of the metal gong continued to fill the air.
.
