Blackbeak Bluff when every thursday

It was an easy question for him to answer, the stories fresh enough in his own mind that he could rattle them off.

Anansi, He started with slowly. He sits and weaves and if you ask him what it is he makes, he tells you he will let you know when the sun dies. A faint smile still hovered on his features. Fondness for the slyness of the story. But the sun never dies and so he never tells. He protects his secret that way.