Amythra's father, Burret, looked like her brother aged 30 years. His skin was wrinkled from sea water and was bound like loose leather over his face. It was a face that had seen a lot of pain with a business like mind, but if you paid attention, you would notice the laugh lines around his eyes, collected from 18 years of watching over his children. One of his famous rare smiles shown when he saw Crate and Amythra enter the front of her house which was a carving shop.
"Are those the plans, now?" Burret reached out for the scrolls Crate had under his arms. "I'd love to see 'em." He turned to his daughter, "Er...Amythra, head in the back and father me the cloth sack on the table. I got a job for you." His attention was turned again to Crate and his plans, but Amythra took no notice.
Behind the shop was not a work shop, like most other shops in the village, rather the kitchen. Beside the bread, there was a burlap sack. She poked it, lazily, then sat down at the table, put her hands over her face, and quietly wept.