Fairspell Meadow If there’s a wrong road, I’m damn sure gonna take it

Potema and the birds watched the loner go. When he was a dot in the horizon the birds flew off into flight, wheeling around before heading northwest. Where they were going, Potema was not certain, but she had a feeling they were foraging. They had chicks and elders to feed.

Following their lead, Potema trotted after them, her eye on the sky, making up a story about the loner who had learned to fly. It would be a good legend, if she changed a thing or two.