When the scribe continued to knock on the door, Balgair sighed softly and slid the report into a black folder before putting the folder into his desk drawer. “What is it, Delilah?”
“Sir,” the brunette offered as she pushed the door open and peeked inside. “I have a message from the lookouts on the Northern Wall.”
That caught his attention, and he looked down at the calendar on his desk. “What day is it?”
“Dihaoine, sir.” She affirmed as he watched the slow smile that crossed his lips. It was the look of a man who was about to rejoin with his other half, or in Balgair’s case, his bannaichian.
When he looked up from the calendar, the smile shone all the way to his eyes. “What’s the report from the Northern Wall?”
Why am I so nervous about this? The scribe wondered as she crumpled her skirt between her fingers. “There is a transport approaching in a direct line with the quartermaster's drydock. The lookouts report that it’s flying a craobh na Cruinne banner on the mainmast.” The …
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