She saw the caravan approach from her position on the island. There were so many of them heading into the South. What did they want? They were heading up the warden Mavericks castle. Her stomach knotted up when she saw the Bryantt, the warden of North March, in the group.
“No, this cannot be good,” she thought. When they passed, she and Barnard climbed down the stairs of the tower and saddled their horses. They rode towards the debatable lands. They stopped to speculate about what the group might want only after they got to the safety of the island.
The events of the evening weighed heavily on her mind that night. She tossed and turned, sleep eluding her. A recurring dream kept waking her up every time she drifted off to sleep–flames, fire and condemnation for her sins. The dark path had seemed so alluring when she started down it years ago after escaping from the convent.
Each time she woke up screaming. The apartment seemed to have shadows lurking in every corner. Her eyes wide in fear, she pulled the blankets up against her trembling body. She chanted a spell of protection and managed to get a bit of sleep before dawn.
Dawn finally broke through the darkened apartment and she rose in a tired fog. Making her way down to the bakery, she began to prepare a batch of dough for her famous sticky buns. The people of the South seemed to enjoy them enough, they bought them as fast as they come out of the oven. After setting a batch of the dough rising, she tended to the fire and cleaned the shop. As the warden Maverick stated, she must maintain a clean shop or he would close her down.
As she swept the floor, her worries of the night came back to her.