Bearclaw Valley what mysteries we are

merrick:
"i am afraid not,"  the inked swan drawls, taking balefire eyes to touch their flame to the fronds of this place and dance along all the timber.  "i have recently arrived in these lands."  from the north, always the north — and whether out of a lapse in thought or elusion, the feathered thing does not yet give the smoky hushedness of her own name. instead:  "where might your dwelling be?"