Whitefish River It doesn't matter what you mean. It's what you do.

There was no missing the favorable way each of them looked over one another. Belharra preferred this type of man to the last man (could he be called a man, truly? He was more a child, in Belharra's eyes) she had met, the one that glomped over the forest like a little troll protecting his bridge. This one had manners, at least. She smiled coyly under his gaze, and even did a little curtsey just to show she was aware of his prying eyes.

Look upon me (my works), ye mighty, and despair! Belharra thought, with a quaint quirk of her lips. "Pleased t'meetcha, Onyx." As for where she was from..? Wasn't that just what everybody on this side of the Teekon wanted to know? "A nice lil island, very far north o' here. Yourself, Onyx?"