The Sailors Say.

Saimon is almost slurring as he confronts the man locked away inside a crow's cage. And the only thing she can think about is that she has no idea what they're discussing. Saimon has never told her the stories of the battle. Of death and war and their Father on his broken ship.

She doesn't know what to do.

She wants to help the caged man, this Oz, he wears the same green and silver that she has secretly donned, threaded inconspicuously in her hair, since being taken as Ward... and isn't that what matters? Loyalty?

She can't think like this. Not with her brother drunk and angry and this pouch of letters in her pocket. She wants to hit him. Damn her for being so small and frail and feminine. Instead she talks him away and back to his horse, and leads him like a beggar to the castle.

There's an anger in her. She feels so used and so manoeuvred by her whole family, climb the wall, deliver the messages, keep your brother in line. And, oh Gods, she'd just like to do something reckless for once.

The hammer feels heavy in her hands, she hopes it will be strong enough.

Her horse knows the way, she's not sure how he's picked up her intent but she's sure she's not riding him as hard as he's running towards the broken man in the metal cage. The wind whips her blonde hair into her eyes as she gets close to the crossroads.

If he's surprised to see her back so soon he does an excellent job of hiding it.

And now, she's not sure what to do. What to ask. She want's to hear the whole story. The rise and fall of her family and everything in between. She wants to know why her Father never came home and why Saimon refuses to wear anything to do with their House, especially his pendant. But what could this near-lifeless man know about any of that. She'll take the idle sailor gossip in its place.

He speaks of storms and Demons, right out of one of Pwyll's great stories. And, truthfully, she can't believe a word of it until there's mention of another ship...

It's late and now that they're coming to the end of their conversation, she's trying not to think about her promise to free him. It would be all too easy to leave him to starve to death in this cage... but, the saying 'words are wind' has never rang true for her family.

She hands him the hammer.

Messenger.

The hooves of her horse beat the rhythm of the cold, hard ground into her head.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

She's chilled to the bone and her normally warm overcoat is doing nothing to fight off the wind. Her hands hurt from climbing, the often clean pads of her fingers marred with rock and dirt. And. There's a small, soft bag in her pocket that feels like a hundred heavy stones weighing her down, even though it's only several small paper messages. Small but undoubtedly important.

Why did Saimon drag her here and force her up the stone walls to see her Mother? Oh, her dear brother, so infuriating, and yet her only real connection to her heritage. But, why couldn't he face this alone? She feels so old and tired already at thirteen while still feeling so entirely lost and young and not at all prepared for what's expected of her.

What is expected of her?

She's so torn. Her family, and the family she's been brought into. As a Ward, yes. A prisoner for all intents and purposes. But still. Mog and Tog, Quinn, even the old man Chester... there's a fondness there, isn't there? Are these letters, the ones safe in her pocket, a betrayal? And if they are, would it be a bigger betrayal to not deliver them?

Is this a test? Her test? To see if she's capable of being loyal to the Glencairn's? There's still so much undecided... and no one to talk to. Certainly not her drunkard brother who can barely balance on his horse, not any of her brothers... no, not brothers... guards, keepers, and watchmen. She could go to Pwyll, but his mouth is always so close to Chester's ear.

She has to be strong. No matter how difficult.

But why is it so hard?