A wooden archway framed the view of the harbour, sprawled before her in a tree-lined valley. A great river snaked through the valley from the ever-giving, ever-demanding ocean. An organised network of roads and buildings patterned the hills from the edge of the shore, right up to the trees at the peak of the hills. On the sand, workers milled about the skeletal frames of new ships. Carriages and wagons trundled through the busy intersections on the raised man-made platforms at the edge of the shore. Kerrigan noticed a number of armoured guards. Squinting against the sun, she spotted a Vesper crest and felt her heart skip a beat.

She entered the archway and, halfway down the descending track, she stopped at a small log cabin nestled beneath a large, imposing oak tree. A sign outside read Grand Oak: Ingredients for Herbalism and Alchemy. An elderly man, a fraying cap askew on his bald mottled head, slept on a chair beside the entrance. Kerrigan crept by him and snuck around the back of the cabin, where she peered through an open window, crouched among fat wicker baskets. A person, reading a book as a pot stewed above a fire, stood across the room with their back turned. Kerrigan realised she was in luck. Nearby the window, in an old potato sack, was a pile of folded clothing. Kerrigan reached over and grabbed what she could, and carefully withdrew from view to investigate the spoils. In her hands were a pair of patchwork trousers, a baggy white shirt fastened by string, and various linen items –

Oh thank goodness, our journey would be incomplete without a dish cloth and a lonely old curtain.

Kerrigan ignored Po, though she smirked uncontrollably as she quietly returned the unwanted items. She found that she had also snatched some underwear. The socks looked old, but still usable, and the undershorts appeared fairly new. She stripped off her wet clothes as quickly and as quietly as possible, ducking behind the largest wicker basket, turning her head at the slightest sound from inside the house. Even Po blossomed with warmth as Kerrigan pulled herself into the dry clothes. There were no shoes in sight, so she settled for socks only.

She ran her hands through her hair, feeling the heat from her marked hand. After several heartbeats, her hair had dried somewhat, though now it was thick and wavy.

To think we’re a dying breed and here you are, using our mark to dry your hair.

I’ve got to look at least some part presentable before waltzing my way to a Knight Commander. Else they’ll think I’m a bit of a nut.

They already think we’re nuts. That’s why they want to catch us for profits, remember?

Well we’ll just have to remind them we’re not on the market.

Kerrigan gathered her thoughts, took a deep breathe in and a slow breathe out, and crept back to the track that would take them to the harbour. She tugged the straps of the knapsack securely onto her shoulders and glanced back only once, to check that the man was still fast asleep in his chair and that the track behind her was still empty. Satisfied that he was still there, snoozing with his mouth wide open, and that there was no soul in sight passing beneath the archway, she faced her destination and marched on.