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The train pulled into the station with a long, wheezing hiss of steam, the brakes grinding against the frozen rails. When the doors slid open, we were hit by an arctic blast, instantly numbing my face and sending a shiver down to my bones. The station was a large, undecorated stone hall devoid of life. No heat, no doors - just a massive, gaping entrance at the far end where I could see snow swirling in from the storm outside, spilling over the threshold.
"Holy sh-sh-shit!" Cherry's teeth chattered as she stepped onto the platform. "Talk about a frosty reception!"
We hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep our blood flowing as we half-ran, half-slid toward the station exit. As soon as we stepped outside, however, we had to pause and admire the view.
Falconworth was situated on the northern coast at the mouth of a fjord. It spread across both shores of a narrow inlet where dark waters cut through towering cliffs of rock and ice. The train station wasn't within the city proper but instead cut into the side of the cliff halfway up a winding road that climbed from the main settlement all the way up to the icy plateau above. From that vantage point, we had a commanding view of the entire valley.
Below us, most of the city hugged the waterside, buildings clinging to the steep slopes that fell toward the still, black waters. Little ferries with glowing lanterns paddled across the inlet, connecting the two halves of the city. Farther north, beyond the protection of the fjord's arms, the open ocean stretched out, littered with massive ice floes that glinted in the fading light.
Night had already fallen despite it being only late afternoon, and thousands of yellow streetlamps illuminated the city through the falling snow, creating a dreamlike golden glow that reflected off the water and ice.
I fumbled to pull up my menu to take a picture, but my fingers were too numb to make the gestures work properly. I gave up, deciding to get the shots after we had proper clothes.
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Cherry pointed to the other side of the road where it plummeted down toward the city in a steep, icy slope. "S-s-slide?" she suggested.
"No!" I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the proper path. "Let's just get down there in one piece."
It took a few freezing minutes of careful stepping on icy cobblestones, but we eventually reached the upper levels of the city and spotted a clothes shop with a glowing sign depicting a fur-lined boot. We practically dove through the door. And once we were bundled up, the city was actually quite nice.
"First tourism tip for the article:" I said, jotting in my notebook, "Buy your coat beforehand."
The city was built in thin terraces, each just one street wide, stacked right up to the cliff face. Every street had a line of cozy log cabins on one side and a stunning view over the roofs of the lower buildings out into the harbor on the other. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, and warm light spilled from windows. Everywhere, that is, except for the downtown district. There, the streets swirled in concentric circles around and through the main shopping centers. Pine trees dusted with snow and wrapped in colorful faerie lights lined the walkways, their branches drooping under the weight of fresh powder.
We had a couple of hours to kill before our ominous appointment, so we got started canvassing the downtown area for restaurants and eateries. I didn't want to be tainted by recommendations in the Protectorate's guide, so we were working by hand.
"What about that one?" Cherry pointed to a cozy-looking establishment with steam-fogged windows and a sign depicting a roasted fish on a spit.
Inside, the Seaside Skewer was warm and packed with locals. The specialty was fish freshly caught from the fjord, skewered on ironwood sticks and roasted over open flame pits built directly into the tables. We ordered a sample platter and took notes on the flavor, atmosphere, and reasonable prices.
Next, we tried the Frost Berry, a dessert shop specializing in treats made from local berries preserved in honey and snow. The owner, a chatty woman with rosy cheeks, explained how they harvested the berries during the brief summer months and developed special preservation techniques to serve them year-round.
"Five different berry varieties, each with their own unique taste." I wrote in my notebook. "Presentation as impressive as the flavor."
We hit three more establishments over the next hour - a hearty soup kitchen built into a repurposed ship's hull, a bakery specializing in dense, seed-filled breads, and a tavern known for its hot spiced mead. The article wasn't going to be one of our most hard-hitting pieces, but it was one of the most fun to make.
