Two days later, the cart rumbles over the brow of a hill and Vraskall spreads out before them, an untidy melee of little houses scattered in irregular clumps over the low hills. Wooden piers extend paths into the sea, providing a place for ships to dock. A wall around the city extends to rows of wooden posts placed in the water to provide a defence of sorts against attack from the sea. Mathea sighs. "Nearly there," she says. "It's been years since I visited." "You have been here before?" "Ylva and I travelled all over Saldissay before we settled in Maesfell." "Even to different clans?" "Oh yes. There's rivalry, but it's all in the family." Inric is of the opinion that family practices involving nightly raids and kidnapping is taking it a bit far, but Mathea's tone is amused and almost fond. "The old stories say we fought the demons together," she continues. "Ylva loved those ancient legends. She never stopped talking about them." Then she breaks off her reminiscing, and in her silence Inric can hear the worry and the loss, and, unexpected and unwelcome, he feels sorry for her.