Cracking the Windtraps

[Unseelie]

Lemons!

There were, settled beneath the last windtrap, a small house, flanked by a pair of lemon trees. The house was bare adobe, mud and sand and earth blown up against the plascrete walls. The glass was brand new, shining out the windows, and the compressor stuttered with age. Antique furnature mixed with state of the art fabrics, and an ancient netuplink glowed with activity. Crete histories, Declasified Council Records, Blys Archives.

Her family led back to bretonia, to something called the "Bretonian Bucaneers." Trafalgar was involved, something about previous owners, before the Junkers repressurized it.

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