Whitefish River another year without dying

The boy finally said his piece, asking if Grezig knew the names Mawk or Illecebra. That second name seemed… vaguely familiar, as if she’d heard it in a dream, but she could not put a face to it. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I do not know either,” she said. “Illecebra sounds… familiar, but, if I ever did meet an Illecebra, it must have been months ago. No face is coming forward in my mind.” The wind came on, a gust of it, and twined between her fur, which was thickening in the colder weather. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

The boy needed nothing else from her. She dipped her head in goodbye and left.

[Exit.]