Barrow Fields high octane

She was still there. As Haunt drew up near her and set the rabbit at her feet, she realized she'd never gotten a name. Her mouth opened only to clap shut when the blind she-wolf detected her presence—and, more importantly, the food's—and promptly launched into her reading.

Haunt retreated a few steps, then took a seat. She listened carefully as her fortune was told. At first, she carefully controlled her face. Then she realized: her company couldn't see it. She stopped bothering to keep it smooth, various expressions drifting across it throughout the fortune.

Will I become the hunter Artemis wanted me to be? was Haunt's somewhat belated response to the witch's prompt. With this context, some of the words fit. Others simply didn't. Some of it could apply to anyone at all. Regardless, it was all rather fascinating.

"Where do you get all this?" Haunt wanted to know. "The food's about two feet in front of you," she added, perhaps unnecessarily. Surely she could smell it. "It's all yours."