The caravan guard had been born in Waterdeep and would die there, but twice a year she worked the mountain routes. That was when she wore this blue. The color steadied her. In the deep snows, when the world turned white and featureless, she could look down at her cloak and remember where true blue was. She could find the horizon again. The merchant she protected said the color looked like her eyes in certain light, which made her uncomfortable. But she wore it anyway, because the dyer who'd made it had explained, while wrapping the bolt, that this particular blue was 'honest'. It didn't try to be warmer than it was. It didn't apologize for being cold. On her last run before spring, she saw a young trader wearing a tunic in the same shade, nervous and out of place in the passes. She rode alongside him that day, not because he'd hired her, but because someone wearing that blue had a right to arrive home safely. When he made it to Neverwinter, he sent a letter asking her name. She kept it, and read it on nights when the city felt too warm...