Pale blue eyes scanned the far waters of the Adrienne Sea, focusing momentarily on each individual black speck on the horizon.<a class="postlink" href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/36/2e/d5/362ed52da26e6302479c2b52853e8d9f.jpg"><span style="color: #00BFFF">Feron's</span></a>arm rested overhead, draped along the top of the windowpane, his fingers tapping against head of the window frame as he counted off the ships.<span style="font-style: italic">...five...six...seven,</span>he chanted to himself, his stomach dropping with each passing number. There were more of them following close behind, sails that bore a banner vaguely familiar to him rippling in the brisk wind. That banner, two white lions on a red field with a sword standing between them; the banner of the crown family of the human kingdom of Aselia. They'd stepped foot on Eredonian soil once in the few hundred years of his life to solidify a treaty. And now they come again, bringing their myriad of warships and in those warships, war mongers.<br/><br/>They'd been aware of the steadily-closer fleet for two days, so they were not as largely under-prepared as they could have been. Still, everything felt as if it was happening at once. In the two days they'd been made aware of the incoming slew of ships, they could have been enforcing evacuation procedures for all of the coastal villages and cities. They had largely focused on 'why' rather than preparing for the 'what if's and 'when's. What if they launched fire? Unloaded cannons? They hadn't prepared for any of that, and wherever they chose to lay anchor would pay for their shortcomings.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">...ten...eleven...twelve.</span><br/><br/><br/>The warships were sailing aggressively, not directly at them but not so far that they were out of the way of danger. Feron's eyes dragged along the water, tracing along the paths the ships were travelling to their destination. His jaw tightened and then relaxed, though it still took him a moment to speak. "They're bound for Elymhil Village," he spoke, but it felt hollow, like he wasn't saying it to reaffirm it to himself nor to inform the room's other occupant, but to hear something besides his own thoughts. His mother, his sisters and brother... they were all still in Elymhil. While close enough for him to steal away with a horse and ride hard along the main road, it would not be in time. That aside, he couldn't leave. Not now, not without Aravae.<br/><br/>The capitol city of Cyidell was no fortress. The elves of Terisys had no need for barbarous ships or towers. They had no need for war, and yet it was brought to them. A rapid flicker caught his peripheral vision and Feron fought to tear his gaze away from the increasingly closer warships to where riders had been sent out along the main road to Elymhil, hooves kicking up massive clouds of dust in their wake. It was a fools' mission, trying to evacuate the village before the intruders arrived, but they had to at least try. If they were all being honest with themselves, no one was sure what the Aselia wanted. But Feron had been around long enough to make a fairly solid assumption that they weren't bringing twelve warships to a village to discuss diplomacy or trade.<br/><br/>Through the closed window, he could hear talks from outside. Some were mothers frantically trying to locate their children. He imagined they were mirroring his mothers actions, as she was likely doing the same at that very moment. Other voices belonged to gossips, spreading false and largely romanticized rumors about the reason that the humans have decided to come. Some said they were here to capture them and try to harness their magic, or that they were coming to take their women and sell them to the highest bidders. Other rumors were more realistic, such as they were coming for the mithril and other natural resource deposits that Terisys sat on. And the most frighteningly tangible concept: that they were coming just to kill.<br/><br/>Reluctantly, Feron pushed himself away from the window, letting his gaze linger on the horizon just a moment longer before turning to the room's other occupant. "This place is no longer safe for you," he said, taking long strides to Aravae. He'd walked with purpose, but he was lost as to what he should be doing. He should be packing his and Aravae's things, precious manuscripts and other valuables. He should be having horses prepared to leave immediately. Instead he stood in front of Aravae with that sense of purpose lost, long and slender fingers slowly rising to graze against her arms. "We need to gather what we can and leave."