Prompt 3: Scale

 The winds of Ishgard never seemed to cease, much to Frieda's annoyance. It was particularly frustrating due to the fact that she regularly wore a feathered cap. The cap, along with the rest of her attire, had been recommended by a tailor who claimed it was a signature bardic look, which she couldn't argue with. Many bards, as she had learned from her times in taverns and inns, were easily identified by their hats. But it did mean that her hand was constantly clutching the thing to her head, or she was forced to hold it to keep it from flying off into the deep ravine that surrounded the city.

As of late she had frequented Ishgard. Thanks to an extensive clientele of nobles, all of who seemed to be terrified about their houses being lost to the passage of time in the face of imminent doom, she was making a fair amount of money. Often they were asking her to simply record what they said, but the more intense tasks required her to turn their family's history into an inspiring song. Which tended to be difficult, as it was hard to turn generations' worth of sitting around and drinking wine and disparaging the poor into anything inspiring. Unless you were a drunkard, who might find such a lifestyle aspirational.

Were she to make something out of all of their stories, it would have been how idle Ishgard had been until recent years had forced it to begin making changes. She could not imagine how a city so large could remain the same over such a long passage of time. Compared to Gridania it was massive, and that was before one accounted for the surrounding mountains. It had taken many grave things to make Ishgard begin to move. Perhaps the sheer size of it meant that more momentum was required for it to begin moving down the hill.

She was generally of the opinion that it was better late than never in the case of good change, which on the whole seemed to be what Ishgard had experienced. Where the city had felt so cold when she first visited, in the metaphorical sense as the city always felt cold in the literal sense, now there was a sense of warmth. The people no longer feared for their lives. A horde of wyrms were not at threat of descending over the walls, the issue of equality appeared to be being dealt with. Those who had done historical wrongs had or were being dealt with. The city still needed work, but the ball had been sent rolling.

As if on cue, a quick gust of wind and shadow sped past her. Her hands shot to her hat, and she braced herself as she gazed towards the sun. A dragon, wings spread wide continued on its way past the city. She remembered the first few times she had seen such happen. It was quite mesmerizing to watch, followed by a sense of wonder as she saw the other people on the street breathe a sigh of relief.

With the dragon out of sight, she continued on her way. Something drifting down in the breeze caught her eye further down the road. She reached out to let it fall into her hand, half expecting it to melt away the moment it made contact. Looking back up at the mountain the dragon had soared over, Frieda smiled. She pocketed the scale it had shed as a keepsake for this trip to the frozen north.