Blackwater Islands beg that I succeed

@Abel Elam he had tucked away, safe under the care of his canary in her coalmine. She was all plastic smiles now, his daywalker; he indulged her nonetheless, fancying that they might play at husband and wife for a time. But Ptolemy was no husband. He was a Druid, a Speaker now by the will of his mother which he felt even now. It lingered on these islands; in the air, in the whispers of spirits from the black waters.

@Minuet, then, could be no one's wife. Broodmother; the future of The Druids.

When Pelagius called he rose, already grinning boyishly at the prospect of reuniting with his dear mad brother. Oh, he had done well for himself with that silvered tongue of his, of that there could be no doubt. Yet Ptolemy had always felt that his brother could be more. Perhaps mother agreed.

For here he was, and what could have brought him home but the will of The Listener? He heard her singing even now, telling him what must be done. A new Listener. A new era.

Ptolemy greeted him with an easy one-armed embrace. Pel! He laughed, green eyes sparkling. Just in time for the family reunion. I've found our little brother.