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(Bludgeon Mordo)

"Well, we haven't got much choice, unless you guys can hide all this stuff from your parents."

Branwen raises an eyebrow.
"Ah, so she chose you. I see. There are similar cases of our companion animals choosing their partners in my tribe. I feel foolish for asking."

Branwen also looks up. She resists the urge to take out her axe and start defending herself more out of instinct than of specific hatred towards dragons; it was an instinct born of years of hunting in the wilds of Jaiep.
"Is that.....a dragon?"

"That, I'm afraid, is my business alone. At least, until I figure out where I can start."

"Not in particular. What is this....Council?"

"Yes. We move with the landmasses of our homeland. The islands we live upon move with the streams of magic throughout our world, you see, and so we must move with them; as the tribe's elder, it is my duty to portend these movement and so guide my people. Rare and fortunate are those who do not have to."

"My father, Pwyll, was the Boar, I the Raven. Those are titles conferred upon the elders of our tribe, depending on the animal we take as our symbol; it helps with our histories, when we recount stories of our past to one another. My father's father was the Stallion, his mother the Mare, and so forth; when stories are told of me among my people, I shall be the Raven. It's a title, and nothing more. Sorry if I confused you."

Now here was a first. Ravens must be odd in his society, or else he wouldn't have been so surprised. After all, ravens were prized as animals of clairvoyance among the Donnar De; their flights were said to portend the movements of the masses of the world, and so many ravens were taken by the Donnar De to predict the future in conjunction with the tellings of shamans such as herself.