As Jonan made his way to the chief's tent at first light, the heavens above appeared like a dull grey canvas of smoke, the sky had taken on an oppressive, salty heaviness as the abundant purple sea nearby suddenly exhaled during the night.
When Jonan entered the tent, he found the elderly man humped over a rough wooden table, examining a piece of time-weathered parchment. When Jonan cleared his throat, the chief finally looked up.
He bowed his head a bit and asked, "Sir, I am curious to know about the other colonies." Jonan began, his voice was low and resolute. "Where is the middle of this land?"
The chief breathed a sigh, his eyes turned a bit melancholic, he then gave a long, measured look, and then reached beneath the table and produced a map, which was worn and yellowed, its ink faded a bit, but it was legible; he unfurled it with care.
