Dragoncrest Cliffs mwen te manke ou

A story. Rosalyn had only ever really told true or embellished tales, so the question rested uneasily. Again; anyone else she'd have denied. She couldn't say no to her daughter.

Aye. But what? Her voice was soft and began slowly, picking the tale of their founding on the cliffs here. Parts were jumbled, and sections missing, but she skirted and added until the tale was a recognizable, but different, occurrence. When Mireille gave in to sleep, she would stop. She was not quite ready for sleep herself, but kept a watchful eye instead, distantly considering the cliffs, their son, and what it all might mean.