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At the edge of the harbor stood a small wooden pier where fishermen often gathered before sunrise.
The sky above the water was still dark, but a thin line of light had begun to appear on the horizon.
Boats rocked slowly with the movement of the tide.
A cool wind moved across the water, carrying the quiet sound of waves touching the shore.
Two fishermen prepared their equipment while speaking in low voices.
They had done this routine hundreds of times before.
Yet each morning still felt slightly different.
The sea never repeated itself exactly the same way twice.
