In the fields outside Minas Tirith Port, an ornate carriage approached along the road from the port of Newly Reclaimed Land.
Unlike the deathly stillness elsewhere in the Duchy, spring planting here had not ground to a halt because of the plague.
Between neatly laid-out rows, farmers bent over their work, burying sprouted chunks of sea-salt potato in the soil.
Cavalry patrols passed along the main road from time to time, rigorously checking travelers' citizen identification. Together, these scenes painted a picture unlike any spring in years past, yet still full of life.
The carriage passed the farmland, the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's emblem gleaming conspicuously on its body, out of place among the plainly dressed workers around it. As it approached the checkpoint at Minas Tirith's gates, it gradually slowed.
Before the driver could bring it to a stop, the door burst open from inside with a bang, and a foot clad in a silk boot landed on the gravel road.
Caroline Channing practically leaped out of the carriage.
For some reason, she wore a finely tailored pale-purple gown-clearly unsuitable for a long journey.
Her silver-gray hair was slightly disheveled, but her eyes, usually tinged with arrogance, shone with startling brightness.
Civic Square lay just beyond the gates, with the Lord's Manor a short distance away.
Ignoring the driver's startled cry, she gathered her skirts and ran toward the building that had become the heart of the entire domain.
At that very moment, Veylin emerged through its doors. He seemed to be heading somewhere, walking briskly without any attendants.
"Veylin!"
Caroline's voice rang out, clear and bright, heedless of the surprised looks around her.
A moment later, she shot toward Veylin like a cannonball, threw her arms wide, and hugged him fiercely with every ounce of strength she had.