A new-come plague
The farmer stood outside in his field, clutching his cane, surveying the wintery landscape laid bare before him. The crops were dormant, the land quiet beneath a thin wind, leaving him with little else to do but guard his field from any birds or stray animals that might come scavenging. To pass the time, he absently played with a stalk of weed he'd plucked from the ground, snapping it between his calloused fingers into tiny pieces, letting them fall to the soil below.
Then, he heard it: the patter of hurried footsteps and the urgent voice of his young son, breaking through the stillness.
"Father! There are ships!" the boy cried, excitement and confusion in his voice as he ran to his father's side.
The farmer's brow furrowed as he looked down at the boy. "Ships?" he asked, his mind searching for a reason any vessel would be nearing their small coastal village at this time of year.
Perhaps a merchant looking to resupply with food and water?