Seaside Moors firewater

Regin rather liked the sound of being called a witch. She wondered how someone obtained a title of that sort. Most of the ranks and trades that were offered by Rusalka were ordinary sounding. A rebellious young girl could never understand the need to keep things relatively organized and familiar for potential joiners. It would do their numbers little good to have a unique culture built into their home. Still, Gin could not keep her imagination from racing wildly off-point. She almost missed the educational pieces of the woman's explanation. 

How many spiders can be good? 

The question was guarded in its nature. The young siren wasn't certain about all this witchy business just yet. If she'd be required to spend a good deal of time with the crawly creatures, she imagined she could find another title she'd like just as much as 'witch.' The gleam in her gaze was intense, but the woman Grim had managed to capture the wild pup's full attention.