The carriage swayed along the muddy road after the snowfall.
Mary dozed against the window, little Innie cradled in her arms, with the low groan of wheels crushing snow in her ears.
Suddenly, a rustle of voices woke her.
"Look! Look outside!"
"Heavens, what is that place?"
"Could that be the Red Tide Fief?!"
Mary rubbed her sleepy eyes and groggily leaned toward the carriage window.
Just then, the convoy slowly crested a small hill, and the view suddenly opened before them.
In that instant, Mary's breath caught.
As the carriage slowly passed over the hill, the sight swept toward her.
Below lay a vast river valley, as though someone had carved a sliver of spring into the depths of winter.
The whole of Wheatwave Fief spread across the valley, its silvery greenhouses reflecting rippling sunlight like waves stirred by a gentle breeze.
On the hills to either side, rows of rounded, partially underground houses stood in neat formation.
Broad, straight roads crossed and branched like nerves, closely linking the villages, greenhouses, and food-processing workshop district.
But most breathtaking of all were the seemingly endless fields, where thousands upon thousands of people swung iron plows and wooden spades, turning soil, sowing seeds, and carrying water.
Calls, work chants, and the clash of iron rose one after another, like a song of spring ringing exuberantly across this once silent, frozen land.
An elderly woman in the carriage murmured, "Where in the Northern Frontier could you find a place like this... Even the estates outside Frost Glaive City were never this orderly."
One child was so excited he nearly climbed out the window. "Mother, look! That calf is pulling a plow! Its horns are white. How funny!"
The family members packed into the carriage all craned toward the windows, filling it with