Their ship was sitting stranded on the shore of Desalian land, according to what she'd been told. Enemy territory. At this time of night she could see only a blurred shadow of the island and tiny specks of lantern lights. The churning waves and blowing storm drowned out any chance of hearing approaching footsteps. She walked closer to the edge of the ship. Was there movement? Alexria couldn't be sure if she really saw it or not. The wind blew in strong gusts at a time. But, in the breath of time between them when the wind was still and the rain was streaming down instead of misting across, her view became a little clearer. The outline of the rocks became definite shapes instead of blurred shadows. Alexria strained her eyes. There it was again. Slow movement in and out of her view. Something. Or - as the shape became clearer - someone. A Desalian. Alexria adjusted her grip on the bow and brushed her thumb over the arch of the arrow's tail. The scout was coming closer.