Morning slipped into Barcken on the back of pale sunlight and a gentle chill, the kind of air that promised travel would be bearable before the sun's strength grew harsh. Inside their chamber at Hearthhall, Luke stirred first, groaning as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The faint sounds of the bustling town already filtered through the shutters—vendors calling, carts rolling, the normal hum of life resuming.
Ilyrana rose soon after, moving with her usual quiet precision. There was no rush to her motions, yet she always seemed ready before Luke had even found both his socks. They washed and readied themselves without fuss, though Luke lingered a little longer under the cool stream of water, letting it jolt him awake. By the time he tugged his shirt over his head and ran fingers through his still-damp hair, the elf already had her cloak drawn over her shoulders and her bow slung at her side.
