The night sky broods heavily above the rolling plains, blotting out any shred of moonlight or starlight. An icy rain weeps over the rooftops of Snowbourn, and the streets are turned into darkly shining rivers of mud and gravel. The lamplighter hurries along the walkways, struggling to keep each flame alive as a chilled, damp wind buffets the town.
A figure, huddled inside a tightly wrapped cloak and hood, hurries up the path leading to the mead hall. Even at the late hour, its windows shine with a golden light, welcoming and reassuring in the storm. The figure climbs onto the wide, sheltered porch, and pauses to shake the water from her garments. Throwing back her hood, she fastens her eyes upon the doorward of the hall, standing alert and proud in his armor, and watching her in kind as she approaches him.
An envelope, mostly spared from the rain, is offered towards his hand. "If a man comes here," she entreats in a soft tone, "dressed in black, with dark hair and eyes, calling himself "Crow", please put this into his possession."
The doorward glances at the letter, taking it from her and examining the writing upon the front. "Who is this man you speak of?" he asks in a voice rich with weariness. The voice of a man long stood in one place, cold and tired, but proud to bear up under the burden for the sake of his duty. "And why might he come to our city?"
The woman hesitates, pressing her lips together as she considers how she might reply. Her sapphire eyes slide away to one side, and then lower briefly, before coming up again to meet the gaze of the man before her. "He is no enemy of Rohan. I promise you that. Will you give him this letter if you see him?"
Booted feet shuffle, making a quiet sound behind the steady whisper of the rain and wind. The doorward examines the woman for a long moment, scrutinizing and cautious. "Very well, lady," he says at last.
The worried tension that creases her brow eases away, and her features soften into a grateful smile. "I thank you," she answers with a little bow of her head.
Turning away, her pale fingers draw the hood up once more, and she lowers her chin, moving forward and out into the dark curtain of the rain.
