"Don’t let the squabblin’ fool ye. We tribes of the marsh are forever nippin’ at one another’s heels, true enough, but beneath the bickering runs a shared current, slow and stubborn as the bog itself. There are rites and customs that belong to us all, practiced in one form or another from reed-hut to stone hall, and sometimes even carried beyond our soggy borders by those who’ve learned better than to forget where they came from.
Aye, we are a mixed clutch, no denying it, but there are things every marshborn heart knows how to cherish. Songs hummed by the fire, marks traced in mud and chalk, old gestures repeated not because we remember why, but because it would feel wrong not to. We take a fierce pride in such things, we do, and in that pride we find our common ground.
And mark my words: there is no swifter way to bind us together than an outsider sneering at our rites, and ye’ll see how quick a Deepmore stands shoulder to shoulder with a Willowbend, how fast Siltrider and Thornwatch forget old slights. Mock the marsh, and the marsh answers as one."