Wheeling Gull Isle going in town with six rounds

"They may not, but they can learn," he answered in a murmur. "Provided they are willing." His had been the sort to turn away the curious, but he had thought against that doctrine and never openly. To do so would have cast him out further than the events that had brought him here, but he was hardly blessed with the fortune to perceive the future. Not even simple scrying of tranquil waters could tell him how things would go, not that he had bothered with that since his descent from peak to forest and now to coast.

And the spirits, well, they had long stopped guiding him. At first it hadn't mattered if he turned a deaf ear to their whispers—he could not hear them now, even if he had tried. So far out of his practice, he had unknowingly shut himself off from such things and found the void there as painful as everything he had lost.

As she looked to the forests that so proudly stood along the isle, Tarot stole away to look her features over better. How it must have been a hinderance to go without an eye, how uncomfortable. It drew him to another point instead, and he tore his gaze away from her to study the same plot of land her focus was on.

"If you have need of someone who can work with herbs, I may be able to fill that role."