Jacelyn sat, her petite feet dangling of a branch. Below her, Mr Magpie, sat. Mr Magpie was a shaman, much like her only very different. He was Chereoke, far from here and only passing through. He had asked for her to talk to the local Cayote and the tribes it represented. He asked for safe passage on his spirit journey like so many before him. Jacelyn had accepted to speak on his behalf, as the local Cayote God spoke to her quite often. Tricksters were untrustworthy, but Foxes existed back home to so she knew all too well its cunning ways. The First people and their tricksters were no different, and they respected her ways.

“I am done, Owl Who Speaks.” The old man said as he got up. ‘Owl Who Speaks’ was the name the Tribes had given her when she first proved to them her abilities. She held onto that name with a sense of reverence. “Are you sure this is all you need from me?” He inquired. 

“Yes, Mr Magpie.”  The strange young woman spoke in a faraway voice. “This tree respresented pain for so long, it was beginning to draw bad spirits. With your blessings, it should returnt to bloom come next spring, and bring with it life.” Jacelyn voice wavered, as if trembling with unbidden emotion. “Thank you.”

“No, Owl Who Speaks. It is I who should be thankful. Many of the Pale Folks spit on our traditions, putting up wooden building and brandishing their symbols as if to ward off the rest of the world. They forget the bond we share. You do not. You are like me, a walker of spirits and of the lands.” With that, the old man began to move away from the oak, and with it the city. She watched him go, head tilted much like that of her namesake animal. Then, she breathed in sharply and closed her eyes as seconds later one of said birds landed in the trees branches.

“What news Brother owl” She asked, her voice carrying with unseen winds, dissipating into the etheer like smoke. The owl let out a hoot that carried no more meaning for mortal ears then any other. But to the shaman before it, it carried words and emotions.

“Ah. Yes. The undertaker certainly seems to be busy.”  She nodded. “I wonder if it is a sign of things to come.” She began walking towards town and to her Tea House, bare feet seemingly untroubled by the elements. She let out a low whistle as she strolled, seemingly carefree despite her alert eyes and sharp senses. A illusion of folly, to fool those that not yet had woken to the truth of her nation. A deception well nurtured and kept as it afforded her an advantage. She found an alarming amount of lies in this town. Shapes upon shapes, spirits wrapped in secrets and debts unpaid and shackling those bound to them. She found storms within hearts of men, and dead things wearing human guises.  Flames and Ice, bound to mortal flesh and hearts carved out or rock and bone. Only Job could allow for such a strange mix of people.


She of course, knew far more the most, her little Tea House was neutral ground, afforded such status by the fact that she helped all, no matter twisted or strange. Under her roof, there would be no violence, only peace. 

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