The night has been uneventful so far, much to the delight of the hunter. The clamoring downstairs has been rising and falling periodically, with more banging on tables and rowdy laughter at the end of what he could only imagine to be every round of new beer around the tables. The folks of this particular region seem to like their midsummer celebrations with more feasting than other locales he’s been to, but not that he minds it though, it was thanks to the owners’ passionate hospitality and, well, his companion’s willingness to start off a drink-off that they got a free meal out of the ordeal. She mumbled something, with a hint of a slur on her tongue, about suddenly remembering some business in town before she sauntered her way out the inn, after he had yanked her away from her sixth round with some effort. She didn’t press him when he volunteered to stay behind, and frankly he was glad. Ever since they met up again yesterday they’ve been on errand after errand together. Well, not exactly errands, they were more like cleaning up after her messes. He could hardly believe she had the audacity to hog a room in the inn for days with next to no coins left in her pouch, but then again it’s her they were dealing with after all, and so he made record time in resigning to his fate and offering apologies and to pay for her bills. Anyway, as much as he missed being around his friend, he needs some time and space to mind his own business. The moon leans in softly on the windowsill, peeking in and guiding his hand along the piece of wood in his lap. He chips away at its surface as gingerly as his decently sized hunting knife would allow him, tracing out the silhouette of a familiar yet foreign beastkin. It’s been days since he got to make his last carving, him being on his way here and all, and it just doesn’t quite sit well with him to go so long without keeping a record. Plus he finds it endlessly amusing how she has changed so much in appearance through the several years since he left, yet would still brag and bluff and huff just the way she used to. Of course she doesn’t have to know about this; something tells him that if she does, she might just drop whatever amiability she’s built up and go straight back to growling “snicker and I’ll bash your head in” again. He likes it better the other way, more civil and fitting of a night like this, where almost all is calm.
Then as soon as he let his meandering thoughts fall on that note all is no longer calm. With a rush of air a figure lands on the open window with a thud and the elegance of… Well, a mildly drunk person. As it straightens up the large figure loomed over the room and robbed it of the pleasant moonlight, though not for long, for just as he looks up from his lap he catches the figure knocking its head on the top of the window frame, losing its footing, and falling down onto the eaves of the inn with a loud yelp, all in one smooth motion.

“There’s a door for a reason you know,” he sighs as he sets aside his little project to lean out the window.
“Oh c’mon, this is much faster than stairs and you know it,” she growled, still recovering from what he could only imagine to have been some awkward position to save herself from rolling straight off the edge, “Plus if I show up down there again those bastards are gonna drag me along for round seven, hell naw to that.”
“Not like you to turn down something to drink,” he watched as the beastkin walked up, her fur and chestplate cloaked in different shades of glimmer under the moon, “And what was that about rounds?”
“Oh that, ha! Those hicks all jumped at it when I called for a drink-off, at’ll teach em to try and outlast a beast.”
“And to think I almost believed you’d take an errand seriously for once,” he muttered, fully aware of what must’ve happened by the sheer smell of beer now that she’s close enough.
“Hey, I made sure when I left that each and every one of em were so drunk they couldn’t even sit up straight, I think that’s a job well-done. But enough of that.” He tilted his head as his friend reached behind her for something, and his eyes widened when a that something slid out with a sheen.
“A… Knife?” And an awfully small one too, he noted. The fox was looking down at the blade, and, with a satisfied look, proceeded to extend her arm in a strange gesture so that the knife was in front of him, handle-first. The hunter blinked several times, first at his friend then at the knife, and then at her again, and he probably would’ve repeated the process a couple times more if the proud look on his friend’s face hadn’t have bent into furrowed brows and a twitchy eye.
“What, it’s a gift for you. What’s with that look?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing I just, well, wasn’t… I never expected to hear the word ‘gift’ from you, erm remind me how drunk are you?”
“This,” she said with a deep breath followed by a quick glare to make clear she’s going to ignore his last question, “I got from the smithy in town. Should work better for that carving thing you like to do than that clunky knife of yours.” She paused. “Aren’t you gonna give it a try? Hey why are you backing away-”
“Okay you’re not yourself, first you refused booze and now you’re offering? A gift? Who are you?” He feigned the best “deeply troubled and strongly concerned” look he could pull.
“What do you even- Look people can change okay? It’s years since we last met, so I got you a present, simple as that,” rolling her eyes she adeptly flicked her knife around, this time with the edge towards him, “Now take it. Now.”
He let his gaze drift from the pointy tip of the knife down her arm and onto her impatient face before nodding gently. “Alright, I see now,” he put a hand to the side of the carving knife and nudged its tip away from his face, “In that case I humbly refuse.”
“Well that’s about time wait what?” He could see her reigning herself in from the edge of a spit take, “No that’s not what you’re supposed to say!” He smiled, and unbeknownst to him smugly too, before he continued: “That’s right, I refuse. I’m not taking this, not unless you tell me what you’re after first. You want something from me don’t you?”
“How dare… No no, now why would you assume something like that about me?” the amount of effort she put in to refrain from barking at him was transparent at this point, so much so he found it admirable even, “Just. Take it. It’s just a knife, just a gift, nothing more. Don’t you need something like this anyway?”
“Well, no not necessarily,” he held out his hand and almost immediately he felt the weight of the petite knife and large paw of an impatient fox slam down on it, “And to be fair you don’t exactly have the best of records, but there, now talk.”
She let out a long, long sigh, and he was surprised to notice he couldn’t tell if it was one of relief or of deep concern. He put his other hand softly on the back of the knife and took a seat on the window sill.
After a brief pause where even the insects seemed to stop being horny out of the suspense, she bellowed under her voice: “Alright, I need you to write me a letter.”
“Oh, oh right, you can’t write.” He blinked an apology for his initial puzzled look, “That’s fair, to whom?”
“Kyle. You remember him? That other knight back in our town, Kyle, the smartass of all smartasses.” She leaned against the window with a huff.
“Of course I do, he used to have us over dinner every now and then and he got me my first hunting knife too,” the hunter closed his eyes to indulge for a moment in the fond memories that bubbled up, “See? He knows how to actually give a gift.”
She growled.