Earthy scents of oak and dark loam hang thick in the midnight air. The Dusk Watch is a shift that only gets more dull as it goes on—people shuttering their windows before bed mirroring the birds roosting for the night—until all the world is hushed and it's the sentry's duty to resist the gentle lull toward complacency. There are good reasons they're posted in twos. Sir Dead-Weight over there must be half a dozen of them.
For the third time this evening, the absolute lout of a man Dane was paired with leans toward her, brandishing a pair of dice. "All I'm sayin's we could pass the time with a game o' hazard. 's no' my fault if yer afraid to lo–"
She holds up a hand to cut him off, scanning the nearby woods. "Shut the fuck up, will you?" She's sure she heard something; a rustling in the brambles, just out of view. "Probably just a wild animal, but a fight with a damn porcupine beats standing here with you. Mind your post."
She doesn't wait for a reply before stalking forward on light feet, one hand drifting toward the falchion at her hip as she breeches the treeline.
@fae-prince-carnelian
