The Lighthouse

The lone island was rose from the sea like a spire and jaggedly ended. The lighthouse atop the rock was well-worn whitestone, having lost its sheen years ago. The salt breeze carried sea-birds on currents as they circled the island watching the soft breakers for fish. From the top of the lighthouse, one could see for leagues. Ships passed in and out of the harbor of Dianfinna. The West was soft, but they had marshaled in the past. Cloak swishing as he turned, he began his decent of the tower, his audience with the Regent was in a few hours.