It was easy to find the only tent in the otherwise deserted fairground.

Light glints off the golden threads fastening the seams of its weather-worn red canvas shell, just like in the dream you woke from this morning. Candlelight spills out from within, as does a shrill call:

"Squawk! Welcome, traveler. Seeking my sort of insights?"

As you enter, Tarotdactyl turns her head, one beady bird eye fixing on you.

"Drawn here by the golden thread of fate, were you?" She grins slyly at your look of surprise, revealing rows of teeth. "Ohoho! So is everyone. No need to be surprised. Please, have a seat."

Tarotdactyl sweeps up the deck in her talons. The cards become a blur of painted symbols as she shuffles them. She fixes a discerning eye on you as her nimble claw picks out three of the cards.