It was morning before they emerged from hours of following Sir Corc through the twisting dark. When Rosheen saw the hazy light of early morning glaring at them from down the passage, she began to breathe easier. They came out well away from the city walls, in a rocky depression choked with scrubby tress. The mouth of the tunnel on this side was well hidden by boulders and weeds, appearing to be no more than a natural fissure in the hillside. Black Pool loomed in the distance.

Muckle was the last to come out, and he stepped forth taking a deep breath, smiling and about to speak some nonsense. Sir Corc silenced him with a hiss and pointed up into the fields bordering the city. Rosheen followed the knight’s gesture, squinting across the landscape, but even from their low vantage and across such distance the army assembled before the city was clearly visible. Rosheen could not guess at their numbers, but if they stormed the walls, she doubted the defenses could repel them.

Sir Corc motioned for them to stay quiet and turned away, picking his way through the dell. Pocket stayed close behind and Bantam Flyn came next. Muckle waited on Rosheen, but she kept her gaze fixed on the walls, wishing no contact with the goblin.

After a long moment, she heard him turn away, plodding heavily into the brush.

Rosheen lingered, not knowing why. She hated the city and was glad to be free of it, but leaving it to so cruel a demise made her heartsick for the people who called it home. At last she began to turn, but something caught her eye, floating on the morning breeze. It drifted down into the dell, settling on the ground where it was snagged by the wild grass. Rosheen flew down and plucked it up; a ribbon, finely woven in patterns of green and gold. She ran it through her fingers, feeling the embroidery and then tied it around her waist before flying off after the others.

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