the iron islands were a cold and queer place. from the rocky terrain beneath her feet to all who trod on it, most everywhere elinor looked she saw sharp and hard edges. there was no sun to beat down on her bare back here and no lush greenery to pad her every footstep. it was all salt and stone, life in a constant fight to seize another day. still, she was nothing short of determined in her search of reprieve, and it was that very determination that had brought her to lordsport to celebrate lord botley.

lady elinor adjusted her grip on the axe handle and raised her hands into position. the first time they'd done this, elinor's axe had bounced off the target and onto the dirt. the botley had given her pointers then, and so had highgarden's master at arms in the months that followed — pointers that she was sure to put into practice when letting it fly now.

her weapon aimed true: the toe of it just barely striking the center of the target. still too low, but that was the best she'd gotten yet, and with how preoccupied she'd been lately, she was more than happy to take it. "ha!" with a hand on her hip, elinor whirled around to beam at rhygar, chin up and chuffed as could be. "i'd like to dedicate that one to you, my lord, in honor of your name day," she chuckled, dusting off her hands. "speaking of... one and forty, is it?" elinor nodded approvingly. "do you feel any wiser?" then, eyebrow quirked and cheeky as ever, but sure he could take it: "older, perhaps?"