Felltree Marsh I'll whisk away your heartsigh and bury it in mine

Saga. Reverie almost relaxed, almost fell into the easy familiarity of meeting a new friend, but then —
Oh, by the Mother! Her ears flattened in mortification. No! I - the - the bird isn't my husband! Reverie exclaimed. The eagle launched itself off of her shoulder just then, as if offended by the implication. It sat among the muck and twitched its feathers irritably as she stuttered through yet another clarification. The bird is - the one I want my husband to - to meet! Boone is - well, he's back home, um, just over that way. But! You could meet him! If you want! But then she remembered the original misunderstanding, and hurried to add:
Just - just in a friendly way, I mean. Um. Gosh, this is a mess. I'm sorry, Her voice lowered in shame as she went on. She really did feel terrible. How awkward Saga must feel! Reverie could not help but think herself a terrible, blundering fool, and it was all she could do to keep herself from apologizing again.