Lost Creek Hollow Never hold back your step for a moment

Gannet, the little wolf would wanted to. It was really a bitter line that leapt through his conscious, a turn of emotion so deep down and at a depth that if he had been capable of expression outward emotion flawlessly he may have offered him a placating smile. Something long and thin and seemingly polite, but something that simmered if it didn't curl at the edges.

Instead the truth of it was a continued stare for several beats, and the same flat expression that had been pinned to his shrewd little face from the moment of his entrance. If there had ever been any time for Gannet to say something more, this would have been it, but when he realized there was nothing more to say, he had to act. And given that he was nothing more than a little coywolf crammed into close quarters with a bunch of wolves—an embellishment of his own design—he felt he had no option but to agree.

"I am Tarot," he offered in return. "And yes, I do know how to heal. But winter is hardly a time for teaching, so I must inquire why you feel the necessity to learn now," and perhaps more importantly, to slay the newfound prickle that perhaps it was himself being tested. So closeted had his upbringing been that even now, he did not know just what to expect here. It had been so easy to keep his head down and attend to what he wished, to wallow and whine to himself in private, but affairs as of late had kept him far from either.

He let out a breath, concluding, "I do not wish to waste our remaining stock if there are uncertainties."