Fox's Glade be cunning, and full of tricks

The Hedgerow was challenging for him to hold lengthy conversation, but he willed himself to continue with the girl before him – Mona – so that she might find a sense of peace. Tadec knew that her blood was that of a wolf, but he could not fault her for such lineage. He too had been thrust into a similar pool of unfortunate stock. The two of them were as different as they could have been, but he knew there was something within her that had been fractured. Unable to fluently point to the precise thing that had been riven, the thief was drawn to the desolate green that so carefully clung to her soul.
 
Mayfair, had been her second offering of a name. Her voice carried an interested tone at the mention of the Prince of a Thousand Enemies, and Mona made mention of the story that she anticipated was attached to such a title. Tadec could only smile at her and nod softly; he was not certain how he could tell her that she was correct and very wrong in the assumption. For the story had not yet concluded – the ending was still dark.
 
“Many stories, Tadec has,” he said, pleased with the collection that had gathered beneath his skin. “Mona has stories also?” the moonlighter sought to delve deeper into the green-eyed woman. He fixed her with a quick, but miniscule, tilt of his crown and a questioning glint in his lantern gaze.