scrubjayspeaks | Lake Lewisia #484

Considering how the Pine Market operated, being invited by an existing attendee was more than a courtesy or a rite of passage, but a requirement. It wasn’t merely that the market took place deep in the forest, with its exact date and location shared by whispers and marked out in a subtle signage of mosses and mushrooms growing just so. Newcomers also required an interpreter, as all business in the market took place in a pidgin cobbled together from historic remnants of fur trapper French and English, three dialects of migratory bird, nearly proper pixie grammar, and a few dozen truly filthy swears in goblin that no one admitted to knowing until someone else tried to cheat them out of the last shaggy inkcaps of the season.

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LL#484