Porcupine Ridge the world will never be the same

@Elixir. other tags for reference

Praise be to Fengari and all his sons and daughters, Cortland had regained his voice. His speech was halting, tentative. . .but returning. Phocion had said many prayers of thanksgiving to the stars, overwhelmed with relief. Though he would never have held it against the boy, of course, the thought of him being mute forever had terrified Phocion, who relied so much upon words. It was a blessing beyond measure.

And now that Cortland was well on his way to a full recovery, Phocion felt more at ease traveling farther away from the mountain, in search of converts. The trio that made their home on Silvertip were all natural wanderers, which was fine with him--so long as they all came home, eventually. The white priest woke at dusk, when the sun was just about descended beneath the horizon, and after leaving word with @Cortland and @Poet, he took off, heading toward the crags that separated his old life from his new.

It was not the easiest of voyages, up this ridge, but he soon was rewarded with a beautiful glade and a stunning view of the sprawling valley below, bathed in moonlight. He lapped from a clear mountain stream, then rested on a flat rock, looking at the stars above. He said silent prayers under his breath, in the tribal language, voice suffused with gratitude.