After the many months of no sightings of any sort of Zenphere, the now very well known Old Town-Hoot, can be seen in the Tavern writing down the finishings of a scruffy leather bound journal with acouple books by his side. He takes several drinks of the mug of water by his side and wipes his short beard with his hand. He then begins to write a letter which is not concealed and is easily open to read to anyone nearby. "Dearest Son, I know I have not been in the Caste lately with mom, but I want you to know that I still love you and that nothing shall ever change that. I have came to a decesion that you are now old enough to know that I shall not be returning to Zanardine. It is against the code of my order, a secret order in which I cannot even tell you of. Perhaps you shall join our ranks one day, I know you could. You know, you will be the king one day, and time truly does go by fast. Follow in my footsteps son, and do not follow the path that leads to selfishness, thievery and murder. When the day comes, perhaps when I retire my current position and you have proven yourself a worthy King of Zanardine, I shall return and meet you in person. But for now, we must continue to talk through quill and parchment. Tell mother I said hi, and that I love her. I am proud of you son." Zenphere scribbles the last letters and places down his quill. He folds it and stamps the royal seal of the Zanardine family and sheds a tear. He wipes it away and walks out of the Tavern to hand it to the local courier.
Zenphere turns his head and watches the angori walk away. He couldn't help the faintest grin come upon his face, yet it was a humorless one. He turned around and headed back to his cabin again to hibernate for the next couple of months reading and writing. He knew that the people in this town, no matter what race, were not just the citizens of a small town which seems always to be attacked, but yet people with their own stories to tell, and that all of them were a part of his family. His new family.
Akon, sitting next to the Angori peers with unseen eyes over towards Zenphere, watching him write and qull away. Her gaze follows the dance of the feather and ink, but notices the distinctive motion of a hand wiping a tear. At which moment she rises, leaving her bottle of wine under the watch of the two angori as the makes her way to follow behind Zenphere. Before he exists the tavern, her palm would catch his shoulder, lips whispering up into his ear, before giving him a gentle and comforting pat, and making her way back to her seat.