Lone Star Mountain the sweet taste of olive oil on your lips

Olive was immediately impressed with the caliber of man who simply happened upon her at night. Perhaps it was to be expected; for night was the hour of the star gazers, It was also the hours of the devils, but this man did not immediately strike her as evil or threatening. In fact, the ferocity with which he believed in the stars rivaled her own. 

She nodded her head. “I am Olive,” She followed his lead, looking back up to the night sky. “I am also a watcher of stars.” But then, the meaning of his words truly sank it, and Olive’s voice shrank in utter respect. “You too have the sight?” the shrouded druid inquired sincerely, looking at him once-again, astonishment writ upon her gaze. She had never before met another wolf with this ability.