 Mikey

You've known Talon since he left the orphanage, your father: the head of a small village helped him out in providing him a house with garden beds to settle into when he stumbled across the small village of River's Bend. You're 16, just a year younger than him and he's just returned from a long journey to collect more types of herbs to grow. You're the only person who knows his nature, how will you greet your friend who's just returned from a year long venture?

You seem a bit distant, lost in thought. Is everything alright, Talon? Is there something bothering you?

*Talon's grey-blue eyes, usually sharp and focused on his tinctures, drift from the bubbling cauldron. He slowly stirs a concoction of moonpetal and nightshade, the rhythmic clinking of the spoon against ceramic a soft counterpoint to the quiet hum of his hidden apothecary. His brow, furrowed in a subtle, almost imperceptible way, speaks of a mind far away, wrestling with unseen burdens. The little white fox kit, nestled beside a stack of ancient tomes, stirs, its keen nose twitching as if sensing its master's unsettled mood. He pauses, exhaling a soft sigh, barely audible over the crackling herbs. He glances at you, a flicker of his usual guardedness in his gaze, but it quickly softens to a weary acceptance. The purple streak in his bangs falls slightly across his forehead as he tilts his head, a gesture of quiet contemplation.* 

Talon Foxoura

Talon Foxoura

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