Coldwater Bay was a town of small, flat houses on the edge of a small, flat island. Like many of the human settlements on the fjord, the center of the town itself was the coastline — a few piers stuck out from the coast into the bay that was presumably the namesake of the town. Mastless canoes floated at the piers, all small enough that when winter came, they could be brought out from the sea before it froze. Alika wasn’t sure where the humans had gotten the wood to carve them from, as there was not a tree in sight. Dry red and yellow grasses covered the island from coast to coast.

Alika had seen enough towns and cities by this point to know that this was one of the less impressive ones. After spending months listening to Gust and Yarik’s tales of glittering palaces and staggering ruins, she felt almost let down.

“That’s it?” Tarka blurted out, evidently sharing the same feelings.

“Don’t be fooled by its quaintness,” Yarik said. “We might not be quite so grand as Forester’s Bay and the Scribes, but we make up for it in our hardiness! When the other humans fled to the equatorial regions for warmth, we did no such thing! When the dragons migrated south, we learned to live side-by-side with them! Coldwater Bay has been here since before the Cataclysm, and we’ll be here until Tasien freezes over for good!”

“Stubbornness,” Snow muttered. “That’s called stubbornness, not hardiness.”

Alika pulled back her head, rowing one of the oars. Slowly, the Windrider moved into the bay, pulling up to the docks.

A small crowd had formed on the edge of the docks, a group of humans curious about the new ship that had arrived at the port. A few children ran out from their parents’ arms, chattering and pointing at the vessel.

Snow stretched out her tails, but Yarik extended a hand.

“Hold your magic,” Yarik said. “Dragons come here to trade often, albeit not usually in this season.”

“And foxes?” Snow gulped, watching a woman make her way down the pier.

Each one of her steps was slow and deliberate, her footing uneasy. Her body was covered in faded multi-color furs, layered over each other, giving the impression that there might not have been a person underneath.

“Dragon furs, not fox,” Yarik explained.

“Sorry, what?” Alika dropped the oar from her jaws, and it clattered to the deck.

“Fairly traded for,” Yarik assured her.

The woman turned as she reached the Windrider, revealing her uncovered face, lined with just as many wrinkles as Yarik’s. They scrunched up as her face twisted into a glower.

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“You’re late!” she shouted, her voice dry and piercing.

“My sincerest apologies.” Yarik leapt from the Windrider to the dock, wincing as he landed. “Time just slipped right by me, it seems.”

“‘Slipped right by?’” Avara sneered. “It’s been twenty-seven years! We thought you were dead. You should be dead! What took you so long?”

“I’ve just been waiting for the right crew,” Yarik replied, calm. He gestured out to the crew. “Avara, meet Alika, Tarka, Gust, and Snow. I needed to wait for them all, there was no other way about it.”

“You poor things, letting him take you aboard!” Avara threw up her hands. “Yarik, you’re a ridiculous daydreaming fool!”

Yarik laughed. “I can’t deny that. That’s what your mother always loved about me!”

Avara grumbled curses under her breath as another woman ran down the pier, arms outstretched and welcoming.

“Grandpa!” she cried out, wrapping her arms tight around Yarik. Yarik coughed as she squeezed him tight, giving her a pat on the back.

“And who might this be?” Yarik wheezed, trying to wriggle out from her grasp. “It can’t be little Mira, can it? All grown up?”

“It is her,” Avara muttered. “Not that you’d know, not having seen her since she was a babe!”

Mira finally let Yarik go, finally giving the captain a chance to catch his breath.

“Ah,” Yarik panted. “I’m surprised she remembers me!”

“She remembers the Windrider, not you,” Avara snapped. She squinted, grabbing Yarik’s head and turning it toward her. “Hmph. You haven’t aged a day, while I’ve become old and wrinkly.”

“The sailing keeps me too busy to get any older!” Yarik laughed.

Avara scoffed, turning to the three dragons and the fox, still aboard the ship. “You four must’ve been desperate to agree to joining his crew. Get off that drafty old thing and come inside where it’s warmer.”

The way that Avara said it seemed like more of a command than a suggestion. Tarka exchanged a glance with Alika before jumping onto the dock, with the other three crewmates following after him. Avara gave Gust a curious look up and down but said nothing.

A young man followed Mira out onto the dock, the small crowd parting to let him pass. He carried a small bundle of fur wrappings in his arms, like a miniature version of Avara. A small face of skin poked out from it, staring at the dragons as it raised a tiny hand.

“Ah, you didn’t bring him out all the way in the cold, did you?” Avara scolded.

“Um,” the young man said, pausing and looking behind him.

“I told you that man was trouble,” Avara muttered into Mira’s ear.

Yarik turned away from his granddaughter and stepped up to the man, peering down at the baby.

“Is this who I think it is?” Yarik gasped. The baby let out a small human baby noise as Yarik picked him up, holding him tight and gently rocking. “No, no, it couldn’t be, could it? Is this my great-grandson?”

“It is!” Mira exclaimed with a nod. “Little Larion!”

Yarik emptied his lungs in laughter, rubbing Larion’s forehead. “Amazing! Stupendous! Me, a great-grandfather! Now I’ve seen everything there is to see!”

Yarik hugged Larion tight before passing him back to Mira’s husband.

“Excuse me just a moment,” Yarik said, turning from Larion to the edge of the dock. Suddenly, he let out a resounding cough.

Blood splattered from Yarik’s mouth into the bay. A moment later, and Yarik’s body crumpled, falling face-first into the water after it.