Fangorn nods firmly to himself as he affirms his need to leave, lifting himself up of the table with a heavy grunt before taken a moment to straighten out his heavy leathery hunting jacket, patting himself down as he counts one, two three knives, and smiles to himself, satisfied. I watch him curiously for a moment as he thumbs over the edge of the blades.
When I was younger, I always wanted to train as a warrior in knife throwing- to hold such a delicate but simultaneously sly weapon felt like a privilege, and asset that my small nine year old yet thought would make me look incredibly cool. I would become the first warrior Queen, battling out there on the front lines with a mighty sword and fistful of knives, slaying evil and protecting the good, like any Queen should.
