Grouse Thicket A black fly in your chardonnay.

If Wraen could have known nearly half of, what kind of image Minerva had painted in her mind, she would have been surprised and amused. Matriarch, priestess, consorts, guards? Of all four Firebirds had one - Finley was a matriarch of the Blackthorn clan - the rest she could wish for. But since she had no idea, what was going on inside the other's head, all she saw was a stranger with pleasant manners. There was a bit of stiffness, that she though she percepted, but that might have been first awkwardness of meeting another person for the first time.

"We are a small family," Wraen replied to the inquiry, smiling at the odd choice of "tribe". "Kids learn much more, when they are outside than staying within. I believe that one should make the whole world their home rather than just one, little corner of it," she explained. "I gather that you are new in these parts?" she asked.