A Scrap for the Cliff Gate

A folded scrap rode the Foundry’s link from the Sallow Cross rope up the coast to the cold school at Saltmarrow, sealed with a thumbprint of wax. It said only that her brother was alive and the boats had come back. Ruth Anning, who had stopped expecting letters, read it at the gate with the wind pulling at her hood, then asked the runner to read it again so she could be sure.