"Tavern life," Fangorn beams, taking a deep breath of air, inhaling the fumes of the alcohol and the cheap boozy foods. "I have missed this."
In unison, all of us roll our eyes, each of us thinking the same thoughts that only Kal has the nerve to express. Fangorn is no stranger to a tavern, nor the occasional brawl whenever a drunken opportunity had slipped into his fingers. His time as an outcast in Sezeria left him to feel solace over the little things, mainly wine and loitering in the shadows of a well used pub for criminals, where the gossip was wild and the traces of my brothers activities became just a little more apparent.
It would seem in those hundreds of years he has become quite attached, for that glow in his eyes as he breathes in that tepid tavern air is one of sole admiration. Tugging at his arm to follow us, Kal pulls him with us as we dart our way past tables of customers, looking for an empty place to sit.
