He thrashed his tail, teeth clenched in irritation, as the leaves and bark and stones resulted in the same pattern. Black. A vague and rather useless result. It could have meant that the future was unclear or the question too tumultuous; it could have meant that he was forsaken or being toyed with. All in all, alone it meant nothing. Over and over again, it boiled his temper. That would not do with the season heading into spring and summer and autumn.They came to him, in spring and summer and autumn. The months when all of them sought someone or something to spend their time with or distract their thoughts with. And if he couldn't answer their questions or point them towards a friend or a fling or a mate . . .
He slammed his tail down, hard, scattering the vessels and mediums. If only the clouds and stars weren't so fickle, he could have looked skyward. But it was daytime and the sun was bright. With a grumble, he climbed to his hooves and grumbled. There were others way to read the past, the present, and the future. Or at least gather a different bunch of leaves and bark and stones. Regardless, there was work to do before the spring drove kin mad.