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The cards that lay face up on the table were in a pattern of his own devising. He had studied and listened to his deck for several decades, and they had eventually been able to help him understand what both they and he needed in order to read properly. It was an individual science, as it had been from the beginning of time. Even the most basic aspects of Tarot were subject to change, if readers also became artists and designers of their own decks, using their own symbols, their own interpretations. Each reader is called, each must find the cards that resonate with him, and then study, learn, and open himself to the art, science, and spirituality necessary to be able to help others with readings that actually held meaning for those who would come to him for insight.

It's no wonder that Tarot readers were considered to be dangerous. In the darkest of ages, religions fought to hold onto all knowledge, isolating or destroying any truth that didn't serve or suit them, crushing those who had knowledge that might work against them. Those with perception enough to understand the secrets of symbology, mythology, discernment, the weaving of the golden thread that bound reality together, those thus gifted were a danger to those who wished to keep their agendae secret. Good readers of the Tarot were able to see beyond the false boundaries, so good readers were considered dangerous.

Gwydion was really good.

Not that he wanted to be dangerous, or even considered dangerous, especially toward the clientele who called upon him from time to time. To some, he was merely an amusement; to a few others, he was an oracle. He did not mind either of these, although neither was true of him. No Tarot reader worth his salt (or fees) "told the future." Time was as mutable as anything else, and nothing was certain except uncertainty. That, along with his being feline, was something that he shared with Schrodinger's infamous companion. It's what he was explaining to his latest client, who sat before him in a state of as much neutrality as he could muster. Clearly, he had heard of the various tricks of mentalists and carnival hucksters who read body language in order to "predict" or "see" things about their marks. It would be no defense against Gwydion's perceptions.

"For me, at least," the cougar told his new client, "the Tarot is a collection of symbols that speak to our subconscious. The cards show us reflections of ourselves, like mirrors, but in a way we might not have considered before. My job, as a reader, is to interpret these mirrors in relation to your question."

"I haven't told you my question," the young Shepherd smirked, as if scoring a point.

"That's as it should be," Gwydion continued smoothly. "If you told me your question, it would probably influence my answer. It's always best that I read the cards just as they are, without bias. Now... let's see what we have here."

The cards spoke to him, as they usually did, in their calm, soothing voices, offering their symbols and arcane knowledge to supplement what the cougar's discernment had already told him. Before laying out the cards, Gwydion had asked the client to concentrate on a question, "The more specific the question, the more specific the answer." The client was instructed not to give voice to the question, and the pup had cooperated. This yowen was hardly the first to have tried this trick with him, and the reader wouldn't have needed even his discernment to know what the question (or a variant of it) was.

Why are you such a fag, "card reader"?

It wasn't even a question regarding sexuality, in most cases; it was the cougar's calm demeanor that was "faggy," or effeminate, or at least something that young, butch, cocky, testosterone-fueled, studs-in-training would consider beneath them. It seemed a waste to Gwydion that the young dog felt that he had to be part of that lowest common denominator in males. He was striking for many positive reasons, including his heterochromatic eyes -- even more rare among Shepherds than in other canines, making him more unusual than most. Perhaps that was why he had chosen the "thug" role after all; he may have been called the "pretty pup," perhaps thought gay for the mere reason of being attractive. The Shepherd had already been in a scrap or six, judging by his forepaws and a small scar on his muzzle. He was in is majority by now, as was required by the reader (and the state) for his services, but he was still fighting, one way and another. The thing that he was fighting was reflected in the cards as well as by the specter that hovered over his shoulder, the one he couldn't see, hear, or sense, except as an occasional itch that could not be scratched.

"You've been wrestling with some doubts lately." As the cougar began, he could sense the tsk tsk of the cards, since he had jumped four-pawed into the middle, rather than working up to it slowly. "It looks like it's been brewing for a time now, but you've not been able to see it clearly. Perhaps that's why you came to me today... to get some clarity?"

"You tell me," the Shep sneered, trying to pull his veneer of superiority back over his features. The specter at his shoulder shifted slightly, to pay more attention to the reader.

Gwydion was aware of the specter's change in attitude, but he wasn't the least concerned by it. Quite apart from the various wards and protections he had around himself, he knew that the Shep's spectral attachment was specific to him. He'd created it, after all.

"What worries you is not what you think it is," the reader continued, frowning as if considering how to interpret something. "This card here," he tapped the Major Arcana card of The Moon, "is about deception. The moon's light is reflected, not direct like the sun, so things appear differently in moonlight; red looks gray, yellow looks white. What you're looking at may not be clear to you after all, and what you're seeing may not be accurate.

"Now, over here," he tapped a card picturing a heart with three swords piercing it, "is actually a card that is about strength. It's less about the picture and more about the number three, which usually means growth, and the swords are about taking action. The picture still applies; it may be that the actions you're taking are hurting you more than helping you.

"This little cluster of cards down here are about your past. Looks to me like you've had some tough times growing up. Everyone does, of course. You might have had a couple of other things making it worse. I'd say an older brother."

Steady on, the cards whispered to him. Gwydion couldn't help a touch of self-satisfaction as the pup in front of him twitched. The older brother was very definitely part of the picture, and not in a positive way. The cougar found himself wondering if that scar had been given to him by swift punch by a brotherly forepaw.

"Of course, you might not have any siblings at all. Maybe it's those in the same grade as you, as you were growing up. Some of us get picked on when we're younger. Anyway, the past can't be changed, can it? So perhaps let's look at what you might do in future."

"Gonna tell me my future?"

"Never. Too many variables. This is just how the cards suggest you might look at your choices in the future." The cougar looked up to see the Shep nod nervously. The specter at his shoulder seemed to lean in to listen closely.

"The first thing to remember, yowen, is that a choice is only a choice. If you don't like it, you can make a different choice at any time. Like this card here." He tapped The Chariot. "The two steeds, one black and one white, want to pull the chariot in different directions. It's the driver who chooses, left, right, or straight ahead. He can even turn the whole thing around and go the other way. It's always his choice.

"This one," he tapped the Ace of Cups, "is very strong. Cups represent water, meaning feelings and emotion. The ace is the root of the power of its suit, so this card is the very basis of all the emotions. Mushy stuff, scary stuff, tough stuff, all the stuff about feelings. They're powerful, and we can't control feelings -- we're not meant to -- but we can control what we do with them. If we get mad, do we smash a paw through a window, or do we breathe and find another way to deal with the anger? If we want something, do we suffer without it, or do we find some way to acquire it fairly? If we love someone, do we say so, or do we hide it?"

The specter rose to dance behind the Shep's head, and the pup reached up a forepaw to scratch his head before he could think.

So you do love her, Gwydion thought. And you think it's a weakness to tell her.

"One more thing to think about, as you move forward. This guy here." He tapped The Emperor. Considering the number of Major Arcana cards in this reading, the pup really needed to hear the message loud and clear. "This is the ruler, the one who commands by fiat -- his word is law. He could be benevolent, or he could be a tyrant; that's up to him. The thing is, you see, that no one else can tell him what to say, how to act; he's the only one who can decide what's right and wrong for his empire. You are the emperor of yourself, yowen, and no one can tell you how to live your life. That's probably the best part of this answer to your question. It's why you've had doubts. Listen to you, not others, when it comes to what you want to do, to be, how you want to act. That's the mark of a real furson."

The cougar sighed slightly, spent from the reading. "I hope that answered your question...?"

For a long moment, the client simply sat, not seeming to acknowledge anything, not even the specter that nudged gently at his ear, trying to resolve itself into a shape or form he might recognize. It was, the cougar guessed, a young male Shep who had an imaginary friend or two, built things with pre-formed bricks, maybe colored with crayons or pencils, something that the older sib thought was too "sissy" and needed correcting. Now, the familiar patterns of force were keeping his heart from breaking free enough to admit that he cared for some good female. Soft emotions were "faggy"; one always had to be tough to survive. Oh, the lies we tell ourselves, at such a young age.

"Maybe," the pup said finally.

"You don't have to tell me the question." The reader raised a forestalling forepaw. "If my answer is in the ballpark, then I've done my job. The rest is up to you. Of course, if my reading is entirely off the mark, then there's no charge."

For another long moment, the pup considered. If he followed the usual sort of playground dominance tactics that others like him had tried, he'd be laughing, sneering, barking out the Why are you such a fag question and leaving without paying. It was a form of counting coup in these strange days. In the cases of gang-related stuff, it was part of the initiation to humiliate someone, or at least try to. It was designed to inflict emotional violence upon some form of authority figure or older furson. Those who are truly brain-dead accomplished it well enough; everything is funny to an idiot. Some, however -- such as this pup, perhaps -- could still recognize the truth when they heard it.

Gwydion was well aware that the Shep had thought he wouldn't be paying anything, and that he now was caught between trying to laugh like a fool and spending money he couldn't really spare. Breaking more than a few of his own rules, the cougar said softly, "I'll waive the fee, if you promise that you'll take her someplace nice for dinner. She deserves it."

The young dog stared, lower jaw hanging open a few centimeters.

"You're a young lad, with a strong heart. It's easy to imagine that you have a special female in your life." He leaned forward a little. "One last bit of advice, yowen: If you can't say 'I love you' out loud, say it with what you do. Now go. I recommend the bistro on Rainer Lane; good food, cozy, and it won't break your wallet. Show her. She'll know."

The specter danced and flitted around the Shep's shoulders, happier than he had been for a very long time. Slowly gaining his hindpaws, the young dog whispered an embarrassed "Thank you" before he made his way to the front door and out into the warm Saturday afternoon.

Some hope for that one, the cards whispered to him, or perhaps it was one or more of his own Spirits floating about him. They protected him, in many ways; encouraged him when he felt despairing, comforted him when he felt alone, celebrated with him when he felt happy, guided him with their best wishes and benevolent intents. He was, he realized, closing his eyes and taking a calming, deep breath, a rather lucky cougar.

"Excuse me."

Gwydion opened his eyes, beholding a particularly striking fox standing before him. Of compact build, the vulpine was well-formed, healthy, yet missing something vital. The cougar could not see anything absent or broken, no damage or illness that had any visible manifestation, yet the sensation persisted. Dark russet-furred, golden-eyed, ears forward, the fox stood rooted to the spot, a subtle trembling in him that spoke of something between fear and anticipation.

"May I help you, friend?"

"I need you to find someone."

The words were clear, yet there was a sense of something stuttering, uncertain, blurred. Gwydion felt a need to guard his discernment as much as to use it. Foxes, as a species, are notoriously difficult to read. In Shamanistic thought, the Spirit of Fox represents camouflage. All those born as foxes, then, have a form of glamour already available to them, if they have both courage and integrity to use it.

"I'm not that sort of psychic," the cougar said softly.

"You can do it."

"Perhaps, friend, I should--"

From nowhere at all, the fox produced a large knife, a curving blade perhaps 25cm long. Its gleaming metal, inscribed with what looked like Japanese kanji, showed it to be well cared for and, most likely, extremely sharp.

"I need you to find someone."

The voice was nearly a monotone, and the eyes never blinked. Gwydion did not consider himself particularly physically fit, and the small reading room -- the garage of his house carefully remade into a comfortable parlor for clients -- left little space for maneuvering anyway. The fox blocked the way to the open front door of the parlor, and the door at the cougar's back, leading into the house, was locked by a deadbolt. Part of his mind reacted badly to the first half of that word.

"I will not fight you," the feline said quietly, his ears angled down but not flat against his head, his tail low and still. "I don't know that I can help you. I have not tried finding missing persons before. I read Tarot."

"You read," the fox said, his voice almost a whisper. "You can See. You can do it."

"Who do you want me to find?"

"Me."

It took every milliliter of his will for Gwydion not to react physically. His first thought was that the fox was more in need of an exorcist, and his next was that the fox was in greater need of medication and a long rest. These uncharitable assessments were swiftly dismissed; discernment was not judgment, and he did his best not to judge. He could sense his Spirits trying to whisper confidence to him, but he had little ear for it. After several moments, he looked directly into those disturbing, unblinking eyes, and he made himself take a stand.

"I will help you as best I can. You must put away the knife. It disturbs me, and I will not be able to read for you."

"It is a Zen blade," the fox said, again almost in a whisper. "It cuts illusion from reality."

"It carves the maya." Gwydion recalled the concept from his studies of various philosophies. "That blade can also cut flesh, and it disturbs me. I have given my word; if you do not believe that, you are unlikely to believe anything that I can read."

A half-dozen heartbeats later, the blade vanished. The means and direction of its departure did not register on Gwydion's eyes.

"It is hidden. It is near."

"I have no doubt." The cougar willed his forepaws not to shake, his claws to remain sheathed, as he gestured for the fox to sit. "I will gather the cards and shuffle them," he said as calmly as he could. "While I do, focus on your" (question)"intent. The cards will tell me when they are ready. It sometimes takes a minute or two."

Still not blinking, the fox sat in the chair that the Shep had neglected to push back under the table, his body somehow not tense yet rigid, unmoving in a way that the young Shepherd had tried to do, although the yowen was unsuccessful at it. Even the cards, as they fluttered and ruffled through seemingly nerveless fingers, felt afraid. It was difficult for the cat to hear their collective voice, although he listened as keenly as he could. This reading would have to be different, for so many reasons, perhaps the most unusual one being that he knew the question: Where am I? He guarded against easy answers (would such things be possible?) and hoped that he could read the true and correct answer in the cards.

"Have you a name that I may call you, friend?"

The fox seemed to not hear, or perhaps not fully understand; without any facial expression, it was difficult to tell which.

"Friend."

A name, or an echo? Gwydion could not tell what the softly-sounded word might be. His fingers continued their shuffling until, more surprised than anything else, he stopped. He still had heard no signal that the cards were ready; neither had he shuffled so long before.

"Are they ready," the fox whispered, more statement than question.

"I'm... not sure." The reader felt his ears push forward and upward, surprised by his own candor. "It is unusual for me to not sense their readiness after such a long time shuffling. Let me try something a little different with you."

With a skill born of years performing the maneuver, Gwydion used his right forepaw to set the deck solidly down toward his left and, with a deft sliding motion, he spread them in a straight line across the width of the table. He looked into the fox's unblinking eyes.

"Can you reach up here and touch one of these cards for me? Perhaps one will call to you."

The vulpine did not move.

Tough audience. "I will move a finger slowly over the cards; when you feel that I have reached a card that calls to you, say 'stop'."

Starting at his right, his extended finger barely two centimeters above the cards, the reader began a slow sweep to his left. When his client spoke, Gwydion put the distal pad onto a card.

"This one?"

A whispered "Yes."

The cougar pushed the card forward, away from the rest of the pack, the card itself feeling something like fear over having been selected for this task.

"This card feels right?"

"Yes."

"We'll begin here."

Turning over the card, Gwydion stared at the impossible: The card was blank. Flashing across his mind came the sensation that the symbols on the card had run away, vanished out of fear. The card back retained its earth-toned coloration and symbol of the triskelion, but the front of the card was as pristine a white as could be imagined.

"Read."

The fur on the back of his neck rising, the reader stared gape-mawed at the fox before him. "What did you do?"

"Read."

With a horrific sinking in his belly, the feline took the leftmost card and, shifting it quickly to the right, flipped over the entire line of cards. All were blank.

"Read."

"Read what?" the cat exploded, getting to his hindpaws in a rage. "What have you done? What manner of deviltry have you brought into my home? What are you?"

The fox remained seated, his expression unchanged. His never-blinking eyes held the cougar's own, and the whispering voice said only, "Find me."

Gwydion found himself alone.

* * * * * * * * * *

He did not know how long he stood frozen in place, barely aware of his breathing, his trembling, anything around him. At some point, he looked down and found that the cards were all face-up, all of their symbols and pictures in place, as they should be. The single card that stood alone on the table had also regained its colors: The Two of Pentacles.

The whispering began again, chaotic in his ears. Too much, too confused. Unable to focus, to hear properly. Bedlam. Cacophony. Gwydion's legs gave out from under him, and he sat down hard on his chair, breathing hard and fast. He gripped the sides of the table, stiffened his arms to force himself to stop shaking, letting his claws unsheathe themselves into the wood of the underside, thinking crazily that at least his clients would not see it. The claws of his bare hindpaws dug into the carpet as his subconscious acted instinctually to ground himself. Seconds passed as he slowly became aware of the tendrils of his spirit that reached through the floor, the foundation, into the soft and welcoming earth below. The fear leaked from him through this act, and he began to regain control of his breath, each inhale deeper than the one before, pushing the terror down, further down, out and away from him.

Good,_one of his Guides whispered, not so much with words than with feelings that the cougar's mind was able to turn into words. _We will help you. You are in no danger.

Being able to hear one of the voices clearly, the cougar relaxed still further, his mind already beginning to sort through the sounds around him, both physical and metaphysical. The cards reached out to him, to apologize for their cowardice, and he found enough calm within himself to forgive them, to ask them to give him more room to come back to himself. They obeyed, not as servants to a Master, but as concerned friends who knew to give him some space.

When finally he felt safe enough again, he pulled the tendrils of himself back inside, sheathed his claws, and let his eyes graze softly around his reading parlor. The various pictures and bric-a-brac that helped to make his customers comfortable were untouched, as were the wards invisible to any but himself. Whoever (or whatever) had sat across from him, he was able to get past the wards. Either he fooled the wards, or he wasn't malevolent after all. He breathed deeply and asked the Guides what they had experienced. Given the sensation of embarrassed silence that he was receiving, Gwydion had the idea that they'd experienced only his panic.

"Who was here, then?" The reader spoke to himself often, when alone; he looked upon it as enjoying talking with someone who had some sense for a change. Unfortunately, mere sense wasn't helping him at the moment.

Find me. That was all that the visitor had said... if there was a visitor here at all. Had he hallucinated everything? How and why? The cougar was in good health, and unless some kind of stroke had manifested in the form of the most vivid hallucination since Timothy Leary popularized LSD, there was no reason to think that there had been some physiological cause for a sensory or psychological issue. It frightened him to think that all this had really happened, but he preferred that to the thought that his cheese was slipping off his cracker.

"All right, then," he said softly aloud. "Someone, or something, was here. Came in to have me find him. Not my specialty, I told him, I'm a reader..."

Read.

The word came through into his consciousness, whispered not from memory but from the one card of the deck that had been separated from the rest. In the center of the table, the Two of Pentacles lay, a faithful if still-frightened retainer. The visitor had guided the cougar to bring forth that card, even though it appeared blank at first. That much was certain: Gwydion had pulled a card from the deck. His client was no longer here, so trying to pull more cards would not work; neither he nor the cards would know that further information to be accurate. He would do his reading based on a single card.

He placed his forepaws flat on the table surface, relaxed his shoulders, opened his eyes to look at the card, opened his mind to the symbols, opened his heart to the voice. In his deck's depiction, the central figure was of a lean meerkat, barepawed, traversing a tightrope high above the clouds. Clad in green tunic and red pants, the aerialist did his best to balance a pair of large disks, each larger than his head, emblazoned with the symbol of the five-pointed star. The disks themselves were seemingly bound by a single magical thread forming the infinity symbol around them. The meerkat could not use his tail to balance himself properly, leaning back on it as he would on solid ground; the rope was too small for that. The toes of his paws seemed to grip well enough, and the expression on his face was of concentration more than fear.

None of this answered the client's need.

"You're on a rope in the middle of the sky," the cougar spat sharply, then called himself back to himself once more. If this was not some kind of cosmic joke, then it was important that he figure out this riddle. He sighed, shook himself gently, and looked at the card further.

"You are balancing on a tightrope," he said, as if talking to the client there at his table. "The card is about balance, bringing balance to your life. The territory is unfamiliar to you. You're so far up in the sky that full moon behind you seems huge, that enormous pillowy clouds appear to be below you, that sky craft with swans' heads as prows sail past you..."

Duality. Balance. The illusion-cutting knife that the spirit (or whatever) had shown him. Truth from illusion, severing the two...

Once more the cougar sat back in his chair. "Where are you? Why would you be anywhere? If you weren't here in the first place, then I wouldn't be going through this. But you were here. And you came here, asking me to find you, when you were already--"

The thought struck him forcefully. He was here, but he wasn't. He wanted me to find him.

"Walkabout," Gwydion whispered. "You were here... just without your body. Soul-walking. Disoriented, unconnected. And your soul is traveling because..."

Find me.

Somewhere, a fox needed help so badly that he left his body behind in order to find it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, the cougar whispered some words that no one else in the universe was allowed to know. He felt himself, his essence, expand to a size that could invite in the various Guides and Spirits he knew could help him. They formed a council inside himself and, as one, they opened his eyes and looked again at the card.

What do you see?

The meerkat. The discs. Rope, clouds, airships, moon... the sails of the ships... the curve... the billowing sails of...

"Gossamer."

He reconnected with his body enough to jump up quickly, running out of the garage and into the street. The afternoon was bright, cool, spring's promise in the air. He looked up at the few white, fluffy clouds, for a moment thinking that he was on the wrong side of them, then turned his attention back to the road. His strong legs carried him to the corner of Spencer Lane and the main road of Windswept Street, down that street, past quiet houses and quiet neighbors, three blocks to the street sign he knew was there: Gossamer Crescent.

Standing at the base of the curving road before him, he gave himself a moment to catch his breath as he struggled with the rest. There was no house number two, nor 22, nor 55 (for the two five-pointed stars). Think, Gwydion, think. Numerology. The number two. Doubling, duplication, duplicity... two stories? Most of the houses were two stories here. Split level, two floors... No, something else, something direct...

The street had to be correct, or so he felt. True, a spirit could wander anywhere, especially if disoriented, but if the cougar was right, the spirit had come to find help for the body it had been inhabiting. Find me. If the body needed help, the spirit would not go far. It... or rather, he would have tried to find someone near enough to help. Gwydion had been performing a reading, and his discernment, his powerful psychic presence, would have attracted the spirit like moth to flame.

The reader made himself think as he began padding up the street, looking at the houses for some sense of a clue, something to call to him. He looked at the paint, the lawn, the shrubs, the flowers, anything part of each house that might tug at him. His discernment noticed differences, subtleties, changes, nothing that made itself clear. Again, he felt pulled most to numerology, but these houses had almost nothing to do with twos, except as a single digit. All were escalations from 1001, and 1002 or 1012 would not fit that pattern. Two, two, what--

Duplication.

His legs pushed him faster again until he stood at the base of the driveway for 1010 Gossamer Crescent. Here, it had to be here...

The briefest of hesitation. He pictured himself speaking to the hapless owner: Hello; I'm a Tarot reader, and a fox spirit just visited me and left this address...

He would handle embarrassment; it was the urgency that drove him up to the door. Just before he pressed the annunciator button, he noticed the decorative plate at chest-height on the door -- a stylized drawing of a swan, with Japanese kanji at its side. He touched the button, waited... He made himself count slowly to ten, then pressed again. He could hear a chime inside the house; it was working, yet no one came.

Knocking firmly with his forepaw, he called out, "Hello? Is anyone home?" The quiet of the neighborhood around him all but assured that someone in the nearby houses must have heard him by now. Any chance of being furtive was now officially shot to Hell.

The pressure of urgency made him try the door latch. He found it unlocked. Pushing the door open slowly, he continued calling, "Hello? Anyone here?"

Setting his paw inside the threshold made him guilty of trespass, and he did all he could to push away such thoughts; they only clouded his receptivity. He pushed his feelings outward, adrenaline making all of his senses work harder. The front hall lay empty, likewise the front room, dining room, kitchen. The part of him calling himself a fool was pushed aside with the efficiency of a lunchroom bully kicking the hapless nerd to the floor. The image surprised him enough to make him wonder if it were his.

Still calling, he mounted the steps to the upper floor. Down the hall, he found a master bedroom and en suite, two guest rooms, a water closet, a bathroom... all vacant and quite well kept. Given his own comfortably untidy home, he began to wonder if someone even lived here, or at least why they would be here during the day. A home this large, this tidy, belonged to someone who could afford a maid, or at least a very dedicated stay-at-home mate. He'd have a job in the city proper...

...or a home office.

Gwydion looked about himself wildly. Had he missed a room? Or had he missed a car in the driveway...

Making his way swiftly back downstairs, he returned to the kitchen, finding a door that he had missed on his first pass. The home office had been constructed to be next to the most important part of any business -- the coffee pot. This room, too, was orderly, save for the handsome fox who lay unconscious on the floor, blood still seeping from a wound to the side of his head, just behind the right ear. The cougar fought a brief gagging reflex, knowing he had to call an ambulance. He never had his phone on him when doing readings, and he saw no land line in the small room. Near the fox's forepaw lay a cell phone, and Gwydion grabbed it quickly. Activating it, he almost swore, finding it locked. Only a moment later, he found the "Emergency Call" button, and the call went through.

"Ambulance to 1010 Gossamer Crescent. Looks to be a head wound, lost a lot of blood." He knelt, taking the unconscious fox's forepaw into his own. "Yes," he told the dispatcher, "I'm staying with him. Me? My name is Gwydion. I... he managed to call out to me."

The cougar wondered if the fox would be able to corroborate that story.

...to be continued