The ship slides between the mountains, up the 40 mile long fjord that is Tracy Arm. Trees huddle in the valley bottoms, but only a thousand feet up, even less where the shaded slopes are exposed to the wind, the rock is raw and bare. It is an incredibly beautiful place, but only a fool would call it friendly. It is a place where the old gods are easy to believe in, a place where presences are felt, a place where always there is a sense that something potent is near.