Cricket Creek Bog shadowy and vague

Of all the pieces of the Hinterlands she had ventured, Magnolia was most smitten with this one. The trees alone were quite enticing to her — she was drawn that morning by the sound of a flicker against the bark of one, but when she eventually pinpointed the specific tree the bird had flown off again.

In its place was the call of a raven (@Hereby); the sound reminded her of home.

There had once been an elderly wench that she'd witnessed as a child, one who claimed to be a seer. The woman would throw bones against the top bowl of an overturned turtle shell (it had been bigger than Mag at the time, and likely half the age of the old crone). The woman would charge all manner of things to passersby for their fortunes to be read.

The raven's call sounded like that, and brought with it a good memory.