Gilded Bay where man cannot, love can; love will

Scarred lips stretched unevenly over yellowing teeth at the boy's assessment of her. It was a funny thought, but considering her inauspicious beginnings, the world had been unduly kind to her. Or not, perhaps, the world.

I have been blessed to meet kindness when I have truly needed it, she told the boy, and in hard times, to have great pains to look back on, to know that I have survived worse. The words, chosen so careful, were said with even more care. She wondered if it was very hard to be Skellige's son, or if Knaven, being more worthy, had been cherished and coddled. It was hard to tell from what she'd learned of him thus far.

Meanwhile, he sought to learn more about her. Moorhen gave a firm shake of her head, discounting her mother as easily as the rest of the world had. She had no name, but she gave four of us to Skellige. Redshank, Sandpiper, and Kingfisher. She died on the day we are borned. She had been told, once, that she had not been born at all, but ripped from a dead woman's womb. However Knaven might have been raised, he seemed still too young to her to be told such a gruesome tale. But the brother of Skellige, Szymon, had a mate who tek us to breast. A witch called Doe. She was his second. She said that it is my fault he left us, and tek the other three with. I am disappointment to him, she said. I should be punish. And later, when I see Kingfisher again, and we are grown, he says this also.

She eyed the boy keenly, wondering if he, too, though she should be disappointed in herself. She had long since come to terms with her relationship — or lack thereof — with Skellige, but she did want to get to know this boy, if he was willing to spend time allowing her to do so.