Dragoncrest Cliffs i beg your parsley

“Treasure — Thresher — is her name. West, many west, across water, is our land,” Seelie responds, mimicking the other’s syntax to achieve some semblance of fluency. She can’t point to it from here, but she tries to think of helpful landmarks. “Mirror-river,” she breathes. “Sea lion.” Her feathered tail wavers with tentative friendliness, particularly when she sees Antumbra’s respect for Moorhen. “Storm sun,” she informs the warrior woman. “Soon. Storm soon. After storm…please see, please find. Island.” Her throat is beginning to tire from all this talking, and she clears it with a soft wheeze of a dry cough. “Peace,” she repeats finally. “For peace, welcome ever.”