“The Huntsman? Hmm.”

Gosling spoke with a mild, interest, her eyes running up and down the person before her briefly. Her chest heaved steadily but her heart was racing. She had not done this in almost five years, and she had been very happy to move into Philomel's world.

”Of course you can still do it,” the faun had said, eyes picking out the words of ‘Chaos and Order’ on the pub.

Gosling had blushed. “But, my lady, how do you know?”

Philomel had rolled her shoulders back, eye narrowing at the pub. “The truth of the matter is none of us will ever forget the skills we learnt or were forced to learn. Everything will come back to you.”

Looking back to Gosling she had held out a hand, a golden earring gleaming in her lobe.

“Ready?”

Gosling had groaned, but passed over the folder of papers. “You better use that trinket of jewelry to stay in contact with me, my lady. I might need it.”

“What brings you to a pub like this?” she raised her brow and bit her lip lightly.

My lady? she asked tentatively in her mind.

Almost immediately Gosling was subjected to the strong contact of an immense female mind, made more so because of some divine power behind it. Connected to that were two other intelligences, one of a fox prancing his way through the streets nearby, and the other was a deep wyrm-like dragon chewing through the earth.

Keep going, Philomel murmured.

Gosling breathed in and gazed at the man with the mask of simple black fabric connected loosely to the tricorn pulled low over his brow. Upon his nose were dark, round glasses that peered at Gosling like she did him, with them part the way down his nose.

“Good lady I am here - in this area in general - as a Hunter, to eliminate beasts that threaten the citizenry. I am here in this bar, in particular, because I use it as a base of operations of sorts, from which people can find me when I am not out on a Hunt. As you yourself seem to have done.” Silver eyes glinted at her half covered by his glasses. “Now why might that be?”

Gosling smiled marvellously. “On the contrary, I did not come to ask for your help. Not yet. Only your … company. Mr …? What might be your name?”

Her blue eyes danced, with a hopeful light that spoke, 'I can do this.’ The hunter watched her for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“You may call me the Huntsman, or the Good Hunter. My name is unimportant.” His tone was even, calm, like he seemed unperturbed by her asking for his name or his rejection.

“Good Hunter? Then you can call me the good lady,” she raised a hand, calling for wine. “You will join me in a drink, yes? Then we can see if you are the right man for me tonight.”