Lady Eira moved through the camp with purpose, her cloak drawn tight against the morning chill as she made her way from the cooking fires to where a group of servants huddled near one of the supply wagons. The sky was beginning to lighten overhead, though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, and the camp was alive with nervous energy that reminded her of a beehive that had been poked by an unruly child with a stick.
"Margaret, Bronwyn," Eira said warmly as she approached the two women who were arranging breakfast supplies into manageable portions. "How are you both holding up? I know this morning has been difficult."
