(OOC: Continued from Inver Colpa...)

There are no arrivals by sea to Inver Colpa at this time of year, and certainly no departures at this time of night. Verica and I crouch low as we drift out of the inlet. The hull of my boat, Airgeadragan, cuts through the saltwater for the first time in years. I steer us northward, to get us out of the shoremen’s field of vision as soon as possible. We are very fortunate not to be discovered. Crags and trees eventually come between my boat and the village of Inver Colpa. I finally return my gaze to Verica to find her lying back and staring at the stars. What have the Picts named them, I wonder. I will leave the queen to her thoughts for a while before speaking. Now is the perfect time to set up the mast and sail before turning us out to sea. Perhaps never to return.