According to a dear friend, currently not present, not a thing. No dreams, no ambitions. Nothing. It earned him more than one lecture. "The Convoy's destination is not the same? We will not know til we arrive."

There's something wrong with this landscape. It's idyllic, yes, but there's no little crabs climbing through the surf. No tiny birds running just at the water's edge in time to the waves' rise and fall, no scream of seagulls. Even the bubbling of little holes of razor clams, absent.

Even the scent is different. With the tides comes the smell of decaying seaweed along with the salt. This is .. sterile perfection. "It's nearly as lifeless as the city, though."