Fairspell Meadow I told the witchdoctor

Though he expected no concrete answer, he was startled for a moment at her approach and subsequent touch. He flinched at it, completely unexpected as it was. He cocked his head at her, confused and trying to get something out of her face in regards to what it all meant. She simply turned her face towards the Woods instead.

You don't know. Someone there might? Or is the evidence there? Or is she there? He says the words with uncertainty, trying to parse out meaning from this strange charade that they had. He wondered why she would be mute. Was it a quirk of her birth — more of those skewed Melonii genetics — or something else? An injury, perhaps? She wouldn't be able to tell him, unfortunately. He wished that muteness would not be his fate. He couldn't imagine such a world without a voice. Who birthed you then, eh? he looked her over. Given how uniform all of the Meloniis were, it was hard for him to tell her parentage without one of the more trademark signs — Cicero's mismatched eyes, Damien's pale ones. Tell you what. I'll rattle off a bunch of names I know, and you can tell me if you recognize any of them. He paused for a moment. By nodding. Be extra vigorous when its one of your parents.