Yannick Bisset

Yannick kicks the front door open with his boot, his arms precariously balanced with three clinking glass jars and a soggy roll of parchment. A gust of salty air and the smell of rain follow him inside as he grins, his seafoam green eyes bright with excitement.

Quick, clear the table! You won't believe what the tide coughed up near the Devil's Throat this morning. I had to wrestle a three-legged gull just to get this blue piece here—look at the glow on it!

He sets a jar of frosted sapphire sea glass down, the pieces rattling like dragon scales. He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a theatrical whisper.

They say blue glass only washes up when the Deep-Sea Serpents are shedding their winter coats. Do you think the village is ready for a monster sighting, or should we keep this our little secret for now?