The flag unfurled in the summer breeze, its crescent dragon writhing as it danced above the procession of soldiers making their way through the great oaks. The trek from village to castle had lasted all day, taking a toll on the workers, leaving them tired and listless. Inside the carriage, the man cleared his throat with muted humilty.

"M'lady."

The lady Morden turned to face him, smiling after the fact. She let the drape fall to cover the window behind her, and leaned back into her leather seat, taking in the sound of the carriage wheels slowly turning, the smell of the horses. She sighed and closed her eyes, but sat back up within seconds.

"But Dane, they are so battered. Don't we have clothing..."

"M'lady please. You know we cannot feed the world. Nor can we clothe them. We are providing them work, and we will pay them accordingly."

"But you said we would take action . Bringing a handful of peasants to the castle is hardly action."

Odors of the fish market drifted into the carriage, and the lady raised the drape at the side door. Outside, the cobblestone gleamed, buyers and sellers haggling over scales holding bits of herring and crab. Following the carriage, one of the peasants wore a shoe so tattered, his toes were not covered. He was a small man, and showed many years of labor. Lady Morden pushed her leg out of the carriage, drawing the attention of some of the people in the market, but she didn't care. Without a moment's hesitation, she plucked her shoe off, and let it fall. She pulled her foot back in. Behind them, the man knelt beside her shoe, and placed it on his foot. He left his old shoe by the road, where perhaps another would find it useful, then skipped ahead to catch up with the others.

In the carriage, the man looked at the lady, and said nothing. He was smiling, most uncharacteristically.

The girl stepped through the crumbling archway into the humid night.

She wrapped herself in the comforting cloak of the sea; the sharp odor of salt and the sound of waves as they broke across the jetty, sending a fine spray up to meet her. She could feel the old wood, ancient and strong, under her bare foot, and the grit of the sand in her toes as she considered the dark ocean below and in front of her, reflections of her lantern shivering in the mammoth waves like a firefly struggling in the web.

“Hurry Sheyn. Please.”

The voice was quiet, weaving and hiding itself in the Sea of Tears, blending with the waters, until she was not sure if she had heard it.

The girl looked west. The dark circles under her eyes imposed their years on her otherwise youthful features, and her mouth was drawn taut. The lighthouse loomed over the bay, giant and dark against the starless night, while a flicker of light danced on its lofty peak. The lens was slowly turning, offering a guiding light to fisherman and tradesman who traversed the waters at night. A trade ship was probably close. She could just make out the rowboat moored at lighthouse base, bobbing in the wake of the rising tide. Tomorrow morning the boy who lived in the lighthouse would row his sister across the bay for school.

“Help me,” whispered the waters.

It had been two moons since she had slept, because he would not let her. His pleas were forever there, but the closer she came to the ocean, the quieter his voice became.

She staggered, but did not fall. Sheyn casually lifted a foot, twirling in place on the edge of the wharf, noticing for the first time that she still wore only one shoe. She looked behind her. She had hoped that someone would be there, someone to hold her and cry for her, but her focus fell on her sandal, lying on the side of the road by the porch.

It sat, quietly mocking her.

She considered that hope was no more than a wish for the unlikely, then turned and stepped off.