Verica arrives at the quay with what little of her worldly goods she possesses here in Inver Colpa. Without a sound, I take her bag and step into the Airgeadragan. I hold out my hand for her and she takes it as she steps into the boat, herself. She still bears the imposing carriage of a queen, but in her eyes are wary glances and hints of fear. She must feel as I do, in some ways. Our decision tonight changes both of our lives forever, for either good or ill. I can think of nothing else, as I silently cast us from the pier and row us through the wide mouth named for the pitiable Colptha.

As a boy in Lochlann, I mastered the art of boating noiselessly, to escape my father’s home in the yew-dales when I wanted to go adventuring in the isles. I once again put the art to practice. I am also shrouded in the muted tones of my fian so as to not draw too much attention to myself. Verica is also wisely dressed in her dark menial attire. Her warm cloak slips a bit from her right shoulder, revealing a knotwork pattern spiraling downward and vanishing beneath her clothing. I gaze at the marvelous tattoo and wonder at its meaning. Verica quickly covers her shoulder and holds her cloak shut. Her expression tells me her gesture has nothing to do with the cold. I repent for my curiosity by averting my eyes from the princess and concentrating on slipping past the shoremen.

(OOC: Continued in Eire...)