Pobie stood in his garden, his hands deftly working the soil. Each plant seemed to thrive under his care, their vibrant colors a testament to his skill.

"Ah, the sea has seen many of my years," he mused aloud, his voice a gravelly reminder of time spent in the sun and salt.

Pobie felt the first drops of rain, cool against his weathered skin. He hurried to secure his crops, the urgency of the storm mirrored in his quickened pace.

Pobie opened the door, squinting through the downpour. The Stranger, a young woman with piercing eyes and a mysterious air, stood before him. "Come in, before you catch your death out there," he called.

"I know this place," she admitted, her voice a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. Pobie listened intently, intrigued by her connection to the land he cherished.

"Perhaps it was fate that brought you here," Pobie suggested, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps," she replied, her eyes reflecting the gentle light of the morning sun.