[center][img]http://i1273.photobucket.com/albums/y403/Absolute_Grace/Orren_zpsntgfnsbv.png[/img][/center] Rhoo left his table, and Orren felt himself let out a quiet sigh of relief. He did not believe he would ever grow accustomed to more complex human interaction, and such exchanges left him feeling drained, even moreso than fighting dragons. Even when the other slayer had seemed to burn her mouth on her breakfast, he could not manage to find the words appropriate to such a situation, and could only watch. Orren finished his breakfast quickly and without further incident. He departed the hall quickly, glad to escape the bustle. With breakfast nearing a close, he knew the guild's hunters would be ranging, and so he made his way to the front of the keep and through its large open gate, entering the dawn. The morning air was crisp, though the sun was already starting to warm it, and a gentle breeze caused his dark braids to sway. Orren took the breeze deep into his lungs, tasting the stone of the keep, the everglades far below them, and the grassy knolls just beyond the keep's outer walls. He deduced that there would be fair weather that morning. Another beautiful day on the mountains of Vankinore. The scent of man mingled with the rest, and he approached the hunters gathering at the front gate. They nodded to him in turn as they flexed their hunting bows, checked their arrowheads and fletchings and secured their quivers. The guild's hunters were a fairly quiet bunch, at least in the mornings before they found their drink, and Orren could appreciate the silent company. He was not familiar enough with them to know their names, but he was certain they knew his. With the looming threat of dragon attack, the hunters traveled as a unit, and having a fully-fledged slayer with them was a comfort. It was not every day that Orren hunted with them, but it was a duty he was familiar with, and a good way to fill out an otherwise fruitless day. Orren moved his own bow from the small leather case on his back, bracing it against his foot and slipping the string into its notch in one rapid movement. He reached back, adjusting the small quiver at his hip, prepared for the hunt.