Wheeling Gull Isle A measure of memory

Thresher nodded. "Her roots run deep," She said smilingly, glad he seemed to believe her. As far as she had been told, that had been the case- and now, several years later and many feet taller, it seemed unimaginable that such a fact could be wrong. She tilted her head to the side when asked a question- a dog thing, likely- and nodded happily to his suggestion. "Yes, please; it is her name, Mother Tree," She said, looking fondly toward it. She remembered how the winds howled from the hollow at its base, there the roots, thick as birch trees themselves, arched around and disappeared into the ground. 

She gazed out, and found a familiar darkness to the Southwest and she smiled. The deep chasm in the earth- she would be surprised if he knew its secret. "Have you found the labyrinth, yet?" She asked.