Lost Creek Hollow burning away at the heartwood

tarot. the name fit the stranger, who seemed even more to resemble tadec. not for the colour of his coat, nor the hue of his eyes; it was the sense of magick clinging to tarot that attuned mona's senses, and suddenly her tongue blossomed with all manner of questions. they were couched in wistfulness, of course; she missed the little coywolf very much, and hoped that he would return to his family. perhaps a sprite had led him off, perhaps a homba.
he approached, and as the distance between them narrowed, mona was quite flustered, forgetting completely the nature of whatever it was he had been doing. "i am," she murmured, tones demure. "you said you were new also ...?"
a leading question, one tarot could sidestep if he so wished. she would not press him for tales of his past, but neither would she turn them down. as was her habit, mona began to worry her bottom lip briefly, stopping when she realized what it was she had started to do.