It was a quiet night. In the corner of the inn next to the fire, the only sound that could be heard was the soft scritch-scritch-scritch of Kite's quill against paper. It was the sort of peaceful scene one would never expect to find so close to the Citadel, but Kite had long since realized that humans were actually quite<span style="font-style: italic"> good </span>at coping with loss and destruction. Generally speaking, anyways.<br/><br/>She pushed aside the manuscript she was working on and examined her inkstone critically. The ceramic surface was beginning to erode from overuse, forming spidery cracks that ruined the texture of her ink. It wouldn't be long before she had to hunt for a replacement. She didn't particularly welcome the prospect. The local venders had a reputation for charging twice what they ought to. She glanced outside at the shadow of the Citadel, thinking wryly that if she had been a merchant hereabouts she would have done the same, just to recover the costs of looting and merchandise damage. Fortunately, she wasn't, so she had absolutely no personal sympathy for them.<br/><br/>With a slow sigh, she packed away the papers and sooty charcoal sticks, and looked thoughtfully at the inkstone. If she broke it into little pieces, maybe she could make some more arrows.<br/><br/>Sharp creaking from the front door hinges caught her ear as she gathered her bags. She glanced up.