Highwater and Glass

The Red Falcon, Chapter 4 - Eloise

It was still dark outside The Blue Keep. In the early morning hours, the grounds were quiet and cold. Aside from the dance of shadows conducted by her fireplace, Eloise's quarters were motionless as well.

She stood at the foot of her bed, her eyes surveying the objects she had assembled there: a leather waterskin, a bed roll, a lantern, lantern oil, a torch, a flint, a toothbrush, a comb, a knife, a bag of dried fruit, and a linen tunic. They were all sitting on an unrolled tarp, ready to be packed for her journey. Beside them, she found her weapons; her axes, a bow, and a quiver of iron arrows. Her weapons were symbols dedicated to the men in her life that she loved; Oran Highwater and Sir Revelyn Laurie.

She fondly recalled the moment Rev had gifted her with her bow and quiver. It was wrapped in brown paper and string when he approached her before a cliffside archery lesson. He was grinning adorably, excited to deliver his gift.

"I had it shipped from Alindal," he said to her. "It's Elven."

The bow was made from ash. Red leather coiled at the tips of its limbs and around the grip. The riser had a lion's bust carved into it.

"It's gorgeous," she told him. "Thank you. But I can't shoot like an Elf."

"Not yet, but you're on your way. It's yours. And it's got the lion, so you'll think of home."

"I won't think of home," Eloise assured him. "I'll think of you."

She had pulled him close by his collar and thanked him with a kiss.

A knock at the door disrupted her memory. Oran poked his head into her quarters.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah." She sighed and rolled up her belongings.

Following the torture of Guardsman Galan, Magister Toris returned to Oran with news of a sentinel tower in southern Wyvern Rock just across the border. The sentinel tower belonged to Earl Barifor of Morne, a noble of Wyvern Rock said to have ties with the Cult of the Dread Wyvern. The tower was the most likely destination for where Princess Annette and Marquess Renard were taken. When asked how Guardsman Galan was faring following the interrogation, Toris replied that the eunuch was dead. His body was tossed over the cliffs and his head was in a jar if Oran wished to use it for magical experiments. He did not.

Eloise and Oran were provided two of the King's personal horses and were asked to set off at once. And so, before the sun rose, they were riding out of the gates of The Blue Keep, down the winding streets of Port Shorishal and into the west.

Before long, the sun began to poke up over the rise, casting golden rays between their horses' strides. Though sleep deprived, Eloise felt invigorated by the crisp air that only became sweeter as they traveled away from the stagnant stench of the city.

By midday, they had made it to the Shorishal River Delta, where migrant farmworkers labored on fields of rice wearing large straw hats to block out the sun. By the evening, they reached the northeastern shore of Lake Fafalla. It was quiet there; home to beavers, cranes, oysters, and trout.

Their horses were exhausted, and so beside a tangle of yellow honeysuckle, Eloise and Oran made camp for the night. Oran would catch fish and Eloise would build the fire. They decided this without speaking. In the comfort of their friendship, they assigned roles implicitly. While there was comfort in the silence they shared, Eloise looked forward to the chat they would undoubtedly have at fireside. Oran was so often stoic. She loved to make him laugh.

As her fire grew in strength, she caught her friend staring out into the enormity of the grand lake, his green hood stirring softly in the wind as if it were a long mane of hair.