Arden Sorrel is a bit of a mystery to the folk in the town they call home. They were simply there, living in a home on the outskirts, suddenly. No one could recall seeing a moving van, or even that the house had been for sale. They keep to themselves and don't seem to hold down a job, or shop at the grocery, or, if you listen to the rumor-mongers, ever leave the property bounds. The house is ordinary, the yard is ordinary, except for the one visible change they've made. A huge bottle tree that seemed to spring up overnight, clicking and tinkling with glass bottles and bells and small animal bones, catching the sunlight in a shifting splash of color across the grass.