Haunted Wood digging out stumps of old resentments that refuse to rot on their own (mtr.)

"Your such a detective. Who'd guess?"
the cygnet, of course. A heavery drapery of silence falls between them as hungry eyes flicker, their thoughts bubbling. It's then that the realization is verifed by Calhoun's own murmurings, yes,
the omen is of the self-proclaimed tyrants of Kingslend. 
An omen, that her cousins were not fit to rule.

The irritation she'd felt with the Calhoun ebbed away for something enlightening, new. "I assume you know what I know," she starts. Pausing with a flittering sigh. "Howl for the family and the cursed servants."

This'll be good.