Fairspell Meadow trying to find tomorrow and ease in, til you dive in

Her answer went nowhere in settling things. Indeed, he was even more confused than before she had spoken, and paused in his efforts to stare at the woman, countenance dubious. Who is 'they'? Robespierre queried. And why are you searching for them the unknown?

He'd heard tales of treasure chests, of wolves striking metaphorical gold. Caches long forgotten, meat preserved by the long northern winters, frozen in permafrost. But this was not the north, and things were different.

She was sage femme, so she must not be so easily fooled.

What was she up to?

You'll have us digging to the ends of the earth, madame, he said, a little scornfully, but picking up where he left off nonetheless.