Several days later, stone islands emerged across the boundless blue waters of the Narrow Sea.
Seen from above, the islands resembled loose stones scattered across a blue canvas by an invisible giant hand, densely clustered and unevenly spaced.
Some islands were so barren that not a single tree grew on them, only pale gray reefs riddled with holes by the sea wind.
Others were covered in low shrubs that stubbornly clung to life in the salty wind.
The straits between the islands were narrow and winding, their waters churning into white foam among the rocks.
There was none of King's Landing's bustle here, none of Driftmark's wealth, only jagged rocks and ceaseless waves-
And the faint scent of blood hanging in the air.
"These are the Stepstones, nephew."
Daemon's voice came from beside him.
A few days earlier, he had ridden Caraxes back to the Vale. After a brief rest at Runestone, he had immediately set out for Dragonstone to meet Aegon.
Now he sat steadily in Caraxes's saddle. After several days of rest, the wound Cannibal had bitten into the base of the scarlet dragon's right wing above Driftmark's beach that afternoon had healed completely. Blood-red scales gleamed eerily in the sunlight, the dragon's serpentine neck curved slightly in flight, and slit pupils shone sharp as blades.
Daemon rested one hand casually on the pommel and pointed toward the scattered islands below with the other, calling out in a clear, ringing voice.
Aegon, who had successfully "dumped" Aemond-his "tagalong and mobile surveillance device"-on Dragonstone several days earlier, looked down in the direction his uncle indicated. This was his first real close-up view of the Stepstones.
Previously, he had only read about the islands' history in books and heard accounts of Daemon and Corlys fighting here while tagging along with