The raven master's tower rose from the northeastern corner of the Winters' camp like a skeletal finger pointing toward the sky. It was a temporary structure, hastily erected from salvaged timber and reinforced canvas, but it served its purpose well enough. Inside, dozens of message ravens roosted in carefully maintained cages, their dark eyes watchful, their bodies primed for long flights across hostile territory.
Countess Aliyah Winters climbed the narrow stairs to the top of the tower, her armor clinking softly with each step. The raven master, an elderly man named Cedric whose fingers were perpetually stained with ink, looked up from his work as she entered.
"My lady," he said, bowing slightly. "I was just preparing the evening dispatch."
"Any responses?" Aliyah asked, though she already knew the answer from the look on his face.
Cedric shook his head slowly. "Nothing, my lady. Not since we sent the first request for reinforcements nine days ago."
