The two approach Dovecoral’s western gate. Bruin is tall and broad, with a rough face marked by scars. He wears leather armor and carries a grey woolen cloak over one arm. He walks slowly, looking at the marble walls and decorated towers with consideration. Weed is small and energetic, scampering off the path to examine things Bruin cannot see, then running to catch up.

A guard, tall and thin, leans on a spear outside the gate. “I thought you were looking for holly, not ruffians, Weed.”

Weed runs up, pulling Bruin by his calloused hand. “I found a new friend! Holly isn’t very social.”