Wren smiles. "Well, here, actually. Way back. The Sauvageons are spread all over the east coast and up into the Canadian maritimes, these days, and we don't settle well, so I'm sure I've got a thousand second cousins I've never met. But that side of the family claims roots in Siren Cove from back when this place was a trading port. Before that, France, and the UK, I think. Our family seems to collect sea stories, though, the more fantastic the better, so I don't know if that'll help you exactly."

He nods, glancing at his own wine. "I've never lost anyone that close to me. Friends..." He's had a couple of friends who overdosed, and one who killed himself, but in retrospect the fact that there weren't more seems remarkable. That period of life was verging on a cautionary tale. "I guess I am glad I'm not just wondering." He pauses. "I don't have any idea about my father, though. At this point I don't care - he certainly doesn't - but it is a little odd to think how little I know." He takes a drink. "That's one reason I used to like this song, when I was too little to appreciate all my mother did. The magical father returning for his son. A little silly."