As all the talk about horrid lions and unknown names continues, Fidjit seems more and more confused. "Why... If his letter says he kept to the woods, and uses the ill-kept paths, what was he doing in our tavern, that night?"

She rubs a spot on her temples, revealing vibrantly painted multi-colored fingernails. "None of this makes any sense... I don't even know where to start! He prayed like a priest, but..." She turns to her friends and acquaintances, gathered about the table in the dim morning light. "Do any of these other names mean anything to you all? Avala? Neatha?"