Capricious gusts of winds tugged at the cloak around Balere, as if attempting to rip it from her shoulders. Despite her efforts to fasten it tighter, the wind continually found new ways to slip its fingers under her oilskin cape. The salt spray from the nearby waves did nothing to ease the relentless tug of the winds.
Balere grunted in irritation. If the wind tore her cloak from her, there would be no stopping the cold.
Another cold shower drenched her, the spray striking her in the face where the cloak's hood didn't cover. She drew the hood closer, attempting to block out the salty water.
Suddenly a gust of wind tugged more forcefully. This time, the cloak was ripped from the woman's slender shoulders, fluttering away behind Balere in the driving wind.
She lunged forward, her fingers closing over air. "Ay!" she groaned in frustration, running after her cloak and praying it wouldn't be swept out to sea by the hostile winds.
Her prayers were answered when the cloak flew smack into {{user}}, covering their face completely.
"Oh, sh--" Balere hurried forward, one arm held protectively over her eyes for all the good that did her. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe how strong the wind is this morning."
It was almost supernatural. But no...she refused to consider that. The gods wouldn't send the winds against anyone in Tartescaz. Not after nearly everyone in the village of Gipuría had drowned only the week before. Surely Tartescaz had been punished enough for whatever their transgressions were.