Blast. Of all things, he had to run afoul of a ranger -- a drunken ranger at that with a mocking mouth. It really was quite humiliating that a mere thief such as himself was lower than an orc. “I think its pretty low to assume that I’m a troublemaker and that I stole the hat,” he said. “Really, I would have expected better from a ranger.” He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at him.
“I have not yet received an explanation,” Ravion replied. “Why was that hat so necessary to your survival?”
Leaning back in his chair, Aeron replied, “Whoever said that the hat was necessary for my survival, and whoever said that I stole it? If you must know, the hat is actually my sister’s. Not only did that scurrilous boy insult her, he took the hat from her. My sister is a gentle creature,” he added with a soft smile. “You couldn’t really expect her to reclaim the hat herself, could you?”
The man gazed at him, his keen eyes searching Aeron’s own. It was as if the man was prying through him, scrutinizing every word he had uttered, trying to catch him in a falsehood. Words…always waiting to ensnare you.
“And what about the stutter, Faran?” Ravion asked, sipping from his mug.
Drat. How he did harp on that stutter. It baffled him that Ravion had been able to tell it was false…a stutter was a stutter, what could be simpler? Yet somehow he had sniffed him out, just like he would sniff out an enemy.
“I used to stutter many years ago and he would make mimic me in a mocking manner,” Aeron said. “I must be out of practice,” he added. “I broke the habit when I was young. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Aeron said, jumping to his feet, “I have business to attend to.”
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