White Harbor's walls and towers emerged at the far end of the gray-brown wilderness, stretching like a pale gray boundary across the place where earth met sky.
Low, desolate tundra lay in every direction, with gray-brown gravel and withered grass spreading into the distance, throwing the outlines of those walls and towers into sharp relief.
The entire port city spread neatly along the eastern bank of the White Knife River. Houses and streets rose in tiers from the riverbank toward the inland reaches, their orderly layout keeping the city from looking haphazard even at a distance.
The broad, straight avenues in the city center were paved with large cobblestones, worn smooth beneath the feet of passersby. The roads were firm and level, and their clear lines made it easy to get one's bearings and find a way through the city.
Most of White Harbor's houses were built of whitewashed stone, their walls a clean, pale gray-white. Years of sunlight and sea winds had left them looking plain but far from dilapidated.
Dark gray slate covered the roofs, overlapping in neat rows down their slopes. From a distance, the whole city presented an alternating palette of white and gray that gave it a sober, steady appearance.
Before Viserys and his companion could reach the air above the harbor, however, a gust of wind blew toward them from the city.
The wind carried a jumble of smells: the heavy fishy stench of the fish markets and docks, mingled with the pungent salt tang peculiar to Bite Bay, as though the wind had shredded the damp seawater and poured it straight into their nostrils.
Wave after wave of that smell swept over Viserys and his companion, giving them a taste of the seaport before they had even drawn near it.
White Harbor was