Kestrel sat outside the tower staring at the sky. A whetstone held firm in her hand as she ran it across one blade after another. Swords, spears and knives were stacked outside and waiting for her or already honed. Zzsching, zzsching, zzsching sang the blades as Kestrel saw to them.
Her eyes never drifted to her work. She’d been doing it for years. Every time she came on duty it was the first thing she would do. Even if the blades had been sharpened the day before. Kestrel saw that everything was in its place and fit for use, yet her eyes never drifted from the skys above.
Skies dotter with clouds and criss crossed with the runes of the gods. Kestrel didn’t try to study them, not like some did by marking them down and attempting to interpret. No, she watched in the hopes of seeing the aspect of the gods that left such contrails arching overhead.
In five years on the borderlands, at her post Kestrel had yet to see any. But every morning she awoke to new runes marking the sky. And everyday she sat contemplating them, as she went about her work.
Today’s art is courtesy of Phillip Neyman from Los Angeles, USA.