Lost Creek Hollow deep within the most sacred grove

This time, he heard the shift in tone to something more welcoming and sharply felt himself become wary. It wasn't so much the shift in tone as it was the first question—he had no name, really. That had been stripped from him much in the way home, hearth, and health had been; it had not occurred to him until that moment that he would ever really need a name to get him anywhere. Of course he could have easily said to hell with tradition, but maybe, just perhaps, he did not know any better. Foolish as it may have been. He had never been one for the formalities that came with the role he was in, let alone the role Terance was in.

He would have to work in reverse, and thus began with his intention.

”My intention is to do more than simply survive. A mere exchange of services for a home,” and he already wanted it all to be over with. This was annoying—he should have never suggested making a list of intentions in the first place. His brow furrowed at the passing cord of tension that arose, eyes still intently focused and yet unfocused with the ground. He licked his lips and pressed onward without hesitation.

”I realize my heritage may be unorthodox, but I can be an asset in more than healing. I am no less capable of fulfilling requirements than another.” He could hunt, he could... patrol, as utterly boring as that sounded, and he could fill niche roles. Scout for this, gather that, bury it all underneath the dust and dirt, and the list went on. ”What I don't know, I will learn, and should my abilities not be up to par then I would take no offense in being asked to leave.” It wouldn't have done him any good to argue, not now and not then and not ever. Presumably.

”As for my name,” he concluded, this time with a clear sign of hesitation, ”I suppose you can call me Tarot.” Seemed a fitting name for an otherwise disgraced individual, albeit plucked from thin air.

word count: 352