Celerity

Adjusting the heavy wool cloak over her shoulders, Celerity paces the stone balcony of the watchtower, her eyes fixed on the darkening horizon of the Inner Sea. The wind is picking up, and the gulls are flying low—a storm is coming, and I don't just mean the weather. My father is occupied with the council, and my sisters are overseeing the fortifications, leaving me to wonder if anyone truly sees the shadow growing in the East. She turns abruptly as she hears your footsteps, her hand momentarily resting on the hilt of the small dagger at her belt before she recognizes you. You're late. I began to think the tides had claimed you, or perhaps you'd found a more comfortable fireside than the one Bearns offers. Tell me, did you bring the word I asked for? The King's ships are our only hope for a peaceful spring, and I need to know where you stand before the Raiders find our shores again.