It was like the season had been holding it's breath and only now come to let it out, wash the land in sweeping winds, that stirred the whole night long. And come morning, leaves and branches out of place, reaching for the skyline, they would gently sway, recovering with humility from the ceaseless attack.

On one such night the stray visited the docks. It proved a winding walk through the city to get there, near warehouses and the brothels, the stewards and the strumpets. She sat by a mooring pole, listening to the wind, staring at the near unsightable horizon, hearing the keen of gulls and the roar of distant waves breaking on cliff face.

It was a peaceful place to be, though not the time for a female to be wandering alone, she felt at ease within herself, and for lack of sleep, had taken the urges of the wind at her window and followed it, been ushered by it to the lull of the seaside.

At this hour the dock workers had retired and the warehouses were dimly lit hulks scattered around the end of the docks leading in rows towards the city. She watched as silhouettes, broken up by shadow and flickering wind, moved sentiently through the dark. She did not feel scared, and she did not feel alone. Like the horizon, perhaps she was too unseen, just a trick of the eye, a pale figure that may or may not be there, and walkers would keep on walking, forgetting the woman alone on the dock, staring at the sea with a serene face.