Afternoon, one o'clock.
In front of the small plaza at the Forest Goods Market near the port in North Beita Town.
The cold wind was piercing, and the Sun seemed to lack the energy to shine, casting a rather pale light.
A gray owl circled under the sunlight, its low hoots sounding hoarse, as if there were a block of wood stuck in its throat. Its feathers were dry and disheveled, devoid of luster. One could easily tell that this winter hadn't been easy for it.
But it could only circle in midair and couldn't land within the town. Every time it attempted to, a hazy, thin barrier would appear in the sky, bursting into brilliant sparks that bounced it back into the air.
On the little plaza, experienced wizards didn't pay much attention to the gray owl overhead.
