The Old Path

The bustling and loud noise was not restricted to the port alone. The air around him vibrated with life, created from a symphony of sounds and sights. Vendors called out their wares, the smell of fresh bread and roasting meat mingling with the stale odour of rotting items consumed him. Children darted from corners, running past him and laughing as they played their games. He smiled at them. In their stalls, merchants and buyers haggled over prices, their exchanges adding to the noise.

It was quite easy for him to move through the crowd; his tall frame provided a natural immunity to the jostling throng. Still, he would have preferred to walk the streets without the incessant noise.

The cobblestones beneath his boots had been worn smooth by years of use, and the stalls looked as old as the market itself, their weathered facades bearing silent witness to countless transactions over the years. It hadn't been long since he was on land, so not much had changed. In truth, nothing had changed