A small, lumpy, cloaked figure approaches the Castle.
“Ready,” and “Almost ready,” say voices inside. “...Where’s Inger Lint?” asks a third.
Joined by falling snow, the cloaked figure enters. “I’M HERE, I’M HERE! HOLD YOUR DANG HORSES!” It is, of course, Inger Lint. “I’M LEAVING THE ISLAND UNGUARDED TO BE HERE, PROTECTOR!”
“The odds of anything happening in this weather—“
“YEAH, YOU’RE WELCOME!”
A towel is thrown at his head. “Here, dry off.”
“AN ATTACK!”