The darkness of the tent despite the small fire and the faint smoke from the burning incense gave the place a mysterious air, making the young vixen seem...otherworldly.
She was garbed in a pretty purple-and-white dress that accentuated her slender features. The sides were split halfway, which made the flurry of moves as she danced about, humming a tune, really all the more noticeable...if you were into vixens, which, Scrabblag was not.
"Enough!" the rat shouted as he slammed a paw down on the table. "Yer s'posed t' be seeing whether's we'll win, not dancin'!"
Fortuna stopped a moment. "Milord, you must trust that I know what I'm doing. This dance has been passed down for generations in my family, and it is part of the ritual that allows Vulpuz to speak to me."
"Then why 'ave I never seen any other Seer perform it?"
The vixen shrugged. "Every clan has different ways of speaking to Vulpuz, milord. Have you ever spoken to him?"
"N-no, but-"
"Then trust me and let me do what I know works."
After the rat left, Fortuna sighed in relief. She stared in the mirror. Her purple cowl lined her face and made the marking she painted on her forehead every morning stand out more: a full moon nestled between a waxing moon and a waning one. Her mother told her it was a meant to be way to talk to Vulpuz, that it opened one's mind to visions. Either that was her mother's biggest lie, or Fortuna was not meant to be a Seer.
She looked at her neckline, where a simple cord with two magpie feathers graced her collarbone. The feathers were also supposedly another divination tool.
Fortuna knew the truth. The dance, the incense, the feathers, the mark, the fire reading, the bone reading, it was all lies. Never once had Vulpuz had deigned to speak to the young vixen. But the beasts in the horde thought her to be a true Seer, and that was good enough for her.