Community Notices

Under Lough Owel

FOUND:
Scorched scroll, tied in lace, sealed with a red bead.
Discovered behind Nell’s cottage beneath the blackthorn tree.

“We don’t go near that place after dusk. Some say she sings still… Orla Merrin
Filed under: The Tower at the Edge of the Hill
Name on parchment: Lady Bluebeard

Approach with curiosity and caution.

Solomons' Lady Bluebeard

Satyrday Shell Readings

Memo from The Purrport

stamped in sardine oil:

Effective immediately, entry visas for seagulls have been suspended pending investigation into last Thursday’s pastry incident.

Purrport Response

& Public Comments: Between the Rushes
Inspector Finn (Feline Officer):

No official delivery was made.
Pawprint evidence suggests minor trespass by a rook or lesser fairy.

Orla Merrin:

This woman by the reeds... I’ve drawn her before, I think.
In chalk, on the back of my wardrobe. She was crying, but the tear fell up.

Mrs. Doolan (retired drama teacher):

Sounds like Moira-from-the-well. She vanished in 1967. I still have her teacup.

Whiskers McFluff (Archivist-in-Fur):

Requesting a formal investigation into unfiled music.

The line "Some things root deeper when you don’t name them" may indicate ancient orchard magic.

Maeve (from the Tearoom):
Made a pie to honour her. Gooseberry and silence. Left it by the reeds.

July in Focus

The first-ever Reconciliation Tea at Brighton Bothan ended not in banishment or bewitchment--but in excuses and second helpings.

Addendum:
Rumors now swirl of a “Forks of Intention" baking contest next quarter moon. But it won't happen though official entries are supposed to be left in the Wishing Line postbox.

-- Filed in good faith, crumb-dusted, and entirely legible,
---Inkwell Tabbins, Local Purrporter

A Culinary Chronicle

Found Messages

BARONEY OF PURRPORT

NOTICE: The Fairyfolk from Brighton have arrived. Please secure all teaspoons and advise the linnets to keep their songs cryptic.

(From Maeve's Tearoom)

The Brighton fairyfolk are hosting a Pie Reconciliation Tea this Friday. No forks, no spells. Just forks of intention.

Whim Wharf

This week’s highlights:

Lost: One jar of pickled thunder. May respond to lullabies. Please return to Maudie O’Byrne’s back porch--if you dare.

NOTICE: All complaints regarding the Moon’s lateness must be submitted in triplicate. Address to Fitz (Callagain division), who is refusing to file anything written in pencil.

Found: One glove. Right-hand, velvet, embroidered with the phrase “I’m not sorry." Currently pinned under a rock behind Whim Wharf.

Letter of Concern:

To Whom It May Purr,
I have reason to believe my neighbour has been hiding a small in her pantry. I heard it humming. I smelled scorched honey. I demand action, or at the very least, biscuits.

Yours, With Anxious Regards,
Mrs. Terpsichore McGnash (retired)

Found Correspondence No. 1

Discovered by Orla Merrin, transcribed into the Purrport Ledger

Pinned with a rusted brooch to the office corkboard, just below the "Lost Wellies & Found Promises" section.

Date received: Unknown
Date discovered: This morning, after light rain
Delivered by: Unverified. (Cat scratch marks suggest Inspector Finn.)

The Letter (Extracted from the Archive)
Originally Redacted from The Linnet’s Wings, Spring Issue 2011, under the title “Between the Rushes".

I saw her again, by the reeds.
That woman with the dark shawl who hums a tune
no one quite recalls.
She doesn’t ask for help. She never looks behind.
Only once did she speak, and I believe the words were:
“Some things root deeper when you don’t name them."

After that, I never tried.
I simply sat, and listened.

The song changed with the weather.
I think she’s watching for someone.
Or waiting to be remembered.