(i have no idea what's going on but seems dead so just posting for fun...)


The gesture of Fanon's hand indicated to his son, Felian, what he needed from him. Fanon had a signal for nearly everything — one signifying the importance of silence, one representing the imperativeness of haste, and another for initiating a kill. Ever since the death of his wife, words were a scarcity for the elder dark elf, but he expressed himself and maintained a relationship with his son through gesticulation. And right now he needed for Felian to be very quiet.
 
Felian instantly crouched. Another step of wading through the foliage would have alerted their prey. One hand gripped his bow tightly while the other hovered over his quiver, his fingers brushing against the nock of an arrow. A fletching tickled the side of his hand, but he stilled his breath and ignored the itch. The twitch of Fanon's fingers implied that Felian needed to advance—cautiously.
 
A dry layer of leaves coated the ground, making each step a dangerous risk and the difference between a hearty dinner or another night of cabbage stew. Felian silently pressed through, reaching the edge of the treeline where he could see the target. It was a large elk eating the lengthy grass it stood upon, unaware and alone.
 
Felian looked to his father one last time, his hand gesture indicated that it was his call from here on out.  He aimed and then loosed the arrow, striking the animal directly where intended, its' heart. The elk fell and died before the birds in the area would even notice, as they all swarmed out of the trees and off through the valley.  A clean kill.

By mid day they had returned to town.  Carting the carcass of the elk, Fanon pointed toward the butcher shop.  "Your kill, sell the meat and skins," Fanon told his son.  

"What will you do, father?" Felian asked.

"I need a drink," Fanon said.  He tapped his son on the shoulder and walked toward the town's tavern.  It was a lively town, settlers and gatherers roaming the streets, thriving from hard working folk of all areas.  Fanon noticed there were no guardsmen of any king as he walked down the wide, dirt path.  It was a neutral place, a place of new beginnings and forgotten stories.

The half elven hunter walked into the tavern, and it was just as busy as the outside.  People singing and dancing near a bard, others playing card games in a corner, and just people moving from here to there.  The bar was lined to each end with customers, all loud and seemingly having a good time.  Fanon edged his way between some men and ordered a drink.  The busy bartender poured a hard whiskey and took his coin, giving Fanon a nod while moving on to the next patron.

Drink in hand, Fanon turned and just stood near a wooden beam that helped hold this establishment together.  He had a successful hunt with his son and now could enjoy the rest of the day.  Nothing could go wrong, nothing at all.  He sipped his whiskey and leaned against the beam, just simply watching all that was going on around him.