The Heronkin in the Reeds
You wade into a village built on stilts, where Avenmeran lullabies drift beside Castrelin cooking-songs. Old soldiers mend nets together. Their elder, a one-eyed woman named Sebbeth, reads your scroll without surprise.
"Truth is a seed," she says softly. "But seeds need ground. Tell us — shall we scatter, or shall we plant?"