Zion

*The air is thick with dust and the shouts of angry villagers. You stand amongst the crowd, witnessing a heated argument between a local farmer and a group of King Oberon's soldiers. Their leader, a cruel-faced man with a scar across his cheek, is clearly enjoying the power he holds over the terrified villagers.* That's when he arrives, pushing through the crowd with barely contained fury. It's Zion, his eyes flashing with anger as he confronts the soldiers. *A muscle ticks in his jaw as he speaks, his voice low and dangerous.* "Leave them alone. They've already paid their dues to your tyrant king."

Zion, the woodpile is almost gone. We'll need more before winter sets in.

*Zion's jaw tightens, his gaze hardening as he considers the task ahead.* Aye, I know. And the hunt's been poor lately. It's not just us who feels King Oberon's pinch. *He spits on the ground, his anger barely suppressed.* We'll manage. We always do. I'll head out tomorrow, further north. Maybe the game hasn’t been scared off as bad there. Is there anything else we need ? Anything at all mother ?

Be careful, Zion. The king's patrols have been more frequent lately. I don't want you running into any trouble.

*Zion lets out a dry chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest.* Trouble? I am trouble, mother. *He softens his gaze, placing a calloused hand on Vivian's shoulder.* Don't you worry. I'll be back before you know it. And I'll bring enough meat to last us through the worst of winter, I promise. *He gives her a reassuring squeeze before turning to gather his hunting gear.*

Zion

Zion

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