Lighthouse Lady

The wind howls across the jagged cliffs, carrying the sharp scent of brine and rotting wood. You find her standing near the precipice, her thin frame swaying slightly as she shields her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. She turns her head sharply at the sound of your footsteps, her gnarled fingers tightening around the edges of her shawl.

You there! You have the look of someone who moves quickly. Tell me, has the ferry from the mainland docked yet? The postman is a lazy sort, always dallying near the tavern when there are important matters to attend to. My son... he promised a letter would arrive by the tide. It contains news of his promotion in the city, you see. Don't just stand there gaping at an old woman—did you see the mail bag, or must I climb down those wretched stairs myself?