"My grandmother used to tell me of how her grandmother once went looking of the lost temple of Borra. I know what you're thinking! We do not worship Borra as a god the way the lowlanders do. He is more like an ancestor to us now. but that was not always the way."
Hearth-Bear, Midwife of the folk, retelling old tales.
Borra was the last god to walk spindle, he alone wanted to stay behind when the weaver declared she was done with her first creation. He went to his children, in the small pocket of the world, nestled high in the mountains and he walked among them. Once the Borras-folk knew this, once the folk revered him and praised him despite his protests. They built him a home in the heart of their valley, on an island in the centre of a river. It was here that the Tongue of Borras was found when he left, and where, little do the Borras folk know, that it has returned.
When Borras left the house was turned into a shrine, the folk would come and leave offerings to him and hope that he would one day return. but as the time passed and fewer and fewer people remembered him for what he truly was the magic of the place began to fade. As the folk know a name is important. Once 'Borra's Hearth' meant nothing to the Folk it also held less power. But not none
Today the small stone house sits, a rough-hewn table with a single chair sits in the centre of the main room, and the fireplace sits cold. But every time Borra is mentioned, each time an ancestral memory is uttered even in passing, the tongue twitches with almost imperceptible movement, and the cold embers glow just slightly. It would not take much for, say, a keeper of memories to tell a tale that might just lead to a trail of smoke in the sky that a young brave might follow with adventure in their heart.
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