Fox stayed her distance, not wanting to be a bother to the king. He was a busy (and burdened) young man. Though she helped where she could, wanting to prove herself, to help speed up the awful process of war to free the lands that were suffering. What were farmers to do with burned crop or slaughtered families. It didn’t have to be so.
A fortnight was nearing when her chance to speak with him again arose. A raven, one shot from the sky by her hand, came crashing through the trees near to dawn. Upon it’s leg a letter, sealed with the enemies sigil. She didn’t dare open it. Instead she trotted happily back through camp, cap pulled down over her ears to appear boyish to men. A quick glance and that’s what she might’ve been. It was safer that way. Regardless of safety, she made haste to the King’s pavilion. Cheeks washed with red from the journey when finally she met her destination. Awaiting to be welcomed inside after a quick word with a guard. She didn’t dare walk inside, not when the sun was still trying to rise, he might’ve been sleeping.
With the bird still in her hand, letter attached to it’s leg, she waited. Feeling the warmth as it left the creatures body, her own beginning to do the same as the morning chill set in.
{ thosethreestarks }
