We're very much in the world of The Shattered Moon here, but I think just a little before the time of Three Kinds of North. A couple of other things are different about the Dawnsingers in this story; I'm sure anyone who's already familiar with Three Kinds of North will spot them at once.

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The moons stood clear in the washed winter sky: the Three a pale, almost ghostly, triangle in the South, the One a bright chip low in the East, only visible once Velith scaled the ridge.

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She turned, looking back: rooftops a patterning of grey slate curling around the harbour, a dozen boats moored to the granite quay or riding quietly at anchor. This told her twice as many were at sea with the nets, rod-and-lining in the shallow bays, or setting creels among the jagged isles.

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Her father had been a creelsman…

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She turned away quickly. Sometimes she liked to remember him, sometimes she didn't. Today, in the sharp Northerly breeze on the exposed ridge, she didn't care to linger for any reason.

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The full story is now available as a mini-ebook. You can download it without having to sign up to my mailing list. (I'd love you to do that, but this story is free whether you do or not).