Three hundred thirty. Blood vessels

Belfast, Rodest Port.

Several children were playing on the brown beach far away from the seawater.

The storm had gone away half a day ago, leaving Belfast cool and even somewhat chilly.

However, thick rain clouds still scattered across the sky of Belfast, occasionally dropping a cool, sprinkler-like drizzle.

The distant Rodest Port had grown busy after a long absence, with ships densely packed in the harbor and the bay, and every few seconds, a distant sound would travel to the beach.

The children's laughter brought life to the damp brown sand as their mothers, up along the shoreline, took advantage of the rain's hiatus to look for sea delicacies to replenish their food supplies.

Every rainy season, the poorest of the poor struggled more, especially this year. The price of a pound of wheat flour had risen to an unbearable level, forcing poor people to either fill their stomachs with sawdust or to mix a little flour into their sawdust.