The woman fell silent for a moment, her slender fingers gripping the rim of a porcelain cup that still released a thin curl of steam. Her left eye, its pupil faded, a sign of an immense magical burden, or perhaps an old wound that never truly healed, appeared clouded beneath the sunlight filtering onto the stone balcony.
She slowly pulled out the carved wooden chair behind her and sat down with deliberate grace, as though every inch of her body had been trained never to waste a single motion.
"Come closer, Morvy," she said softly to the white crane.
"Would you tell me about it? About that man."
The crane, called Morvy, lowered his neck slightly in respect before beginning. His voice was low yet clear, carrying news that had crossed territorial borders.
