Season of Change

"If you concentrate really hard, and focus your senses, one day you might be able to shoot that practice target right in the middle, haha! Tell me how it went once I'm back, alright son?....and remember; never give up. Keep trying."

Those were the last words of Mervin of Ginsburg, Robb's father. Five years later, they nay feinted nor forgotten by his son. Not by a long-shot.

Day and night, the sound of pierced air was like oxygen to the archer in training. Day and night he could not go to sleep until he'd hit the target he set for himself, however ridiculously far or hidden from his sight it was.
His mother, Minerva, and her teachings were but a distant memory by his 20th birthday. Her face might have become blurred in his mind, but her lessons would never leave him; it was her gift for him to carry for a lifetime.

Robb has always been fond of Warfall's naturistic view ever since he moved in with his parents from Ginsburg so long ago. The sound of the river, perfectly synched with the birds' humming and the leaves hurling around in the shrieking winds. He felt truly blessed to be located in such an environment.

The people, however, Robb couldn't be less fond of. He thought no ill of them, it's just that he found communicating with them somewhat expandable. Friends are a luxury that he could not spare himself. There was far too much work around the land to be done to mix it with social life, so he thought. Perhaps it was an excuse for him to fulfill a desire for solitude? No one knows, and frankly, not a soul would care. Robb lives on the northern outskirt of the town.

Sun was setting below the horizon, and the wind whispered, as Robb was staring into the wild from a high viewpoint. "Is this the life I was meant to have? Is loneliness the entire content of my existence?", surely these are dramatic questions he was asking himself out loud, but when there is no one around to answer, such riddles do arrive at one's doorstep.

Robb decided to take a walk to the tavern. Might be closed by the time he gets there, but the archer didn't mind. Walking is a healthy habit. He equipped himself with his longbow and filled his quiver with finely crafted arrows. He put his hood on, and started pacing towards town.

"The night is young"

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