Wheeling Gull Isle corn liquor tastes sweeter in this town

To follow the road wherever it went—how quaint. Yet it had its own merit if nothing else, and he would not begrudge him of it. Whatever particular strengths he had he didn't need to boast; Connor seemed to be quite all right with letting things happen as they would. And that was truly all any of them could do, though perhaps the bolder would try to steer their fate and mold it as they saw fit. The coywolf nodded gently; yes, that was all reasonable. Perhaps things would be quite quaint on the isle, a place of sanctity where the world seemed to be nothing but chaos and static.

The world could have done more with the polite and reserved.

But as for him?

"I am a healer by trade," and perhaps more than that, but he did not diverge such details with relative strangers. The Lady had been a fluke, a gamble that had paid off, but to what end he did not yet know. How true she was to her own craft was another thing, but he did not seek her out to intrude on such things. She would include who she wanted, just as he would.

Thoughtfully, he added: "Perhaps if you see plants in good shape, you could tell me."

A pack did not thrive without teamwork, after all.