Ah, wandering about Pratchett's Valley of Mists with the spray can in hand, ready to blaze the trees for the path. . . if I could only figure out where the path should go. . .
Well, at least the swan had the decency to explain what it's doing there. It involves a forest, but I can work with that.
On the other hand, a guy showed up, spread out his mat, and sat down as a story teller. And he's going to be significant in a way that involves neither his becoming king nor his marrying anyone. . . and is probably going to lead to his being cut off from something he thought was his inheritance. (Not that it's more precise than that, yet.)