The darkness is not what bothers Istas. She is waheela, and a waheela doesn't survive the long cold nights of the north without the ability to tolerate the darkness.

No, what bothers her is the swaying of the bridge. She growls her alarm, clinging tightly to the ropes that make up the handrails. The rain pelts down, ruining the beautiful new lace dress that she clothed herself in at the conclusion of her dungeon. She cannot even summon an umbrella to protect it, because then she would have to remove one hand from the railing - a course of action which is, quite frankly, unacceptable.