Bramblepoint they should deliver all my blessings in small brown paper handbags near the porch

outcome/date vague. @Praimfaya maybe?

a rare meal filled caiaphas’ glut — and for a brief moment, the spidery crone seemed content. marmot was sparse, but she had lucked upon one some days dead, crushed by a recent spate of collapsed trees.

she had long resigned herself to the notion the gods had made a mockery of her journey — the most recent quake had made travel near the ranges difficult, and so caiaphas stuck strictly to open plains and woodland for now. presently, she skirted around the bend of the tree line — peering in, but not daring to step under the quivering eaves of bramblepoint.