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"The two of us continued on the twisting garden path and looking around to make sure no one had entered the garden, Derwen revealed one of her spies to me. My wife was operating a merchant spy ring, using traveling merchants in Convey. She sent three tinker wagons, full of captured weapons and damaged armor north, through coastal villages with her spy, a few slightly wounded, apprentice craftsmen from the battle and a couple of mercenary guards. A mule pulled each tradesman's cart, with a bow-topped roof covering the wagon. Each tradesman lived inside the wagon, moving from village-to-village selling a few items, and offering his skills to the communities they visit. Normally, Derwen used her spy to collect information; however she was using this spy to spread the tale of the battle over the Rock River and the founding of the new village with refugees. We were interrupted before I could find out what forward thinking strategy she was executing.A deep voice intruded on my thoughts.. He pushed by leaves and skirted brambles and thorny bushes, the song getting louder and clearer the closer he got. All thought was gone, only the desire to see who could sing a song such as that! He didn't know how long or how far he had walked, dream-like, in search of that perfect voice but he snapped awake in an ancient part of the wood, deep in its heart and far away from any recognisable landmark. Emptiness filled him, tears stung his eyes. The wood was silent. The song was gone. Without that heavenly voice the woods seemed dark and dull, the birdsong raucous and uncouth instead of pleasant and uplifting. He stood, trembling, wiping the tears of despair from his eyes, utterly lost within the deep wood. He was about to turn around and try to find his way back when another noise caught his ear. A soft sigh, gentle as the breeze, coming from just up ahead. A feminine sound that held a faint echo of the voice's ethereal beauty. Curiosity compelled him forwards, if he could no.
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