The signal horns blared.
Amy had to cover her ears to shield herself from the incessant noise of the Castle horns. She swore fluently against the piercing sound of the alert to call the court to the throne. As the blaring ended, she wished for the weirdest moment that Noira had a radio system installed instead. It would be more convenient, and a lot more quiet.
She strapped the lance behind her and picked up the leather bags filled with ‘her’ belongings. She saw a few strands of her hair on the floor as she walked past the threshold. A while ago, Geneva’s knife was at her throat. The next moment, she was offering her help. She decided for the last time that it was not just men who were weird. Noirans were weird. Or perhaps people were really not that simple. Perhaps everyone, herself in
