"Begging your pardon, master Belloc," old Burli once said, "But to my mind, this ain't where I would have builded this house. That creek is downright queer, no doubt as it comes from right out of the Wood. And laying this near the Old Road is just asking for trouble! And them ruins atop the hill there are as bad as the Black Wood."
"That creek" was properly called Stony Brook. It was fed by a glacier in the Blackcrest Mountains far to the west of Belloc's lands. Its long journey wended through the hills, meandering through several connected valleys before passing from the Black Wood, through the wizard's lands, and northeast, finally ending in the Marshes of Morag some twenty leagues further. Just to the west of Belloc's property, Stony Brook passed within a stone's throw of the Old Road, and a little further as it entered the wood, cut across it as a wide, shallow ford.
There were many varied legends about Stony Brook. The elves of northern Normamdon sang of the lost souls of Morag, who said that as they were slain, their blood and their souls spilled into the Brook, mingling with its waters. The Dwarves of Darkhun, far to the south, told a tale of evil faeries who sang to and lured unwary travellers to a watery death. The people of Astargoth, far to the west, spoke of the Singing Waters, and how there was imminent danger if one found oneself in that place by unhappy chance. And directly south, in the Kingdom of Brand, there were many tales of Faerie Brook. The most oft repeated of these was one where a traveller would find his surroundings becoming suddenly unfamiliar, and he would become enchanted . . . lost in a spell . . . bewildered . . . the familiar becoming unfamiliar . . .