"Slow your breathing," Ithilian commanded, gently but firmly, "it will steady your arm. A hunter must remain calm, even when preparing for a kill."
Lia's left arm wobbled visibly, struggling to keep the drawn arrow level. The Dalish leaned up against the nearest tree, arms crossed, watching her form from beyond the girl's peripherals. She looked rather silly. It hadn't surprised Ithilian to learn that Lia didn't own a single pair of pants suitable for the forest, nothing but handspun dresses and simple sandals. He'd been easily able to buy some clothes from a Lowtown tailor using a small portion of the reward he'd collected from Hubert, but he had slightly overestimated her size. Perhaps he'd been using the wrong reference.
Her boots would give her blisters if they continued on much longer, he knew. Her feet were soft, delicate things, having tasted no other dirt than the kind that blew in from the foundry districts. They would toughen, if Ithilian had his way. Her trousers were a muddy brown, baggy things, held up by a buckled belt fastened tightly about her waist. Her tunic was meant for a girl probably three years her senior. It had fallen nearly to her knees until she'd bunched it up and tucked it under the belt.
He'd make her a hunter yet.
It was her choice, too. It had been Lia that had come to Ithilian one day under the vhenadahl, interrupting a conversation between he and Amalia in order to ask him for a lesson. She had convinced her father of the usefulness, and of her own desire, and he had relented, giving the Dalish permission to teach his daughter. And so here they were, trying to put arrows into a tree trunk twenty meters away. The reward from Hubert had given Ithilian time to do as he pleased for a while, exactly as he had wanted.
"It's too big," she said, referring to the bow, "the string is too hard to pull back. It's making my arm shake." Ithilian gazed at the weapon, not his own bow, but another of his creation, smooth whitewood with inlays of silver halla horn spiraling along the ends, seemingly dancing along the wood. He allowed himself a great deal of pride. It was beautiful. "It should be difficult at first," he explained, "but you'll grow stronger if you practice. In time it will seem easy. Lift your elbow."
She did so, the altered position helping her somewhat, and steadying her hand. Unwilling to hold it any longer, however, she released her hold, the arrow loosing with a twang, the whitewood bow extending back to full length as the arrow left. It skimmed the side of the tree, taking off some bark before it sailed into the distance. Ithilian judged it for a moment. "That was better. You learn quickly."
The sun was getting low, casting a yellow orange light through the canopy of the forest. "We should return. I've kept you too long. Let's fetch the arrow and then return." Though somewhat disappointed, Lia was clearly worn out, and nodded her head. "Can we practice more tomorrow?" she asked, sliding the bow over her shoulder as he had shown her. "Perhaps," was all the response he was willing to return. This was... a learning experience for him as well. Or rather, re-learning.
They set off after the lost arrow, Ithilian pulling the three he'd put in the trunk himself on the way. He traveled slow, allowing the girl to take her own pace. He often forgot that she was not as comfortable with the landscape as he and his kin were. This was the unnatural to her, the cities her home ground. It was so backwards, it made him feel ill to linger on it.
As they crested a small hill however, Ithilian held out his hand to stop her, his eye picking up movement in the distance. A deer, a sizeable prize to bring back. He slid his bow from the sheath on his back, pointing it out to Lia as he drew an arrow. "Watch," he commanded. He hadn't actually killed anything in front of her yet, and wondered what her reaction would be when he made the shot. She would have to get used to it, one way or the other, if she intended on being a huntress. He pulled back the arrow, the string resting taut against his upper lip, as he breathed slowly out, lining up the shot to pass through the deer's head.
A shadowy figure danced through the woods, leaving neither trail nor sound in it's wake. Which was strange, considering the shadowy figure was none other than Ashton. For once, he had his large mouth closed and actually seemed focused on the task at hand. He neither wore the jester-like grin that defined him nor even the silly glint that danced in his eyes. In the place of that, he wore a stern frown followed by eyes filled with purpose. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. He had earned enough money in order pay rent on his shop, but that mattered little if he had nothing to sell. That was the goal that day. Inventory for the shop. He had an order for leather boots to fill and he had to restock his supply of venison. He gave away what little he had left for nothing as any longer in his shop and it would spoil. Not that he needed a reason to be in the forest... He never felt more alive when he was in the forest. He weaved around another tree with guile and dexterity belying his tall frame. He was crouched low to the ground, so that the aforementioned frame wouldn't spell out his position to his prey.
He was on the hunt, one of the rare places where all traces of the fool dropped and was replaced by an intelligent and sharp entity. In this state, he was a bloodhound, tracking down his target with acute senses honed by years of practice. Light footsteps that were more akin to the wind washing through the forest rather than a human. He had picked up the trail of a deer, a large one according to it's prints. He had passed a scrapping on a tree as he hunted, gathering that it was a stag with antlers any bar owner would be proud to have hanging over his door, but to the hunter, the antlers would be used as well. Waste not, want not after all. His shop didn't need such extravagancies. It was a shop, not a museum, and everything in his shop had a utilitarian purpose.
The hunt had been going on for an hour then, and Ashton knew that he would catch up to it soon. The prints led to the base of a hill, and if Ashton was a betting man (he was) then he'd bet all the gold that he earned from Jarvis (if he hadn't already thrown it in the Viscount's general direction) that the deer would be in a small copse, bedding down for the evening. That only left the issue of getting through it without the stag hearing him. He lowered his breathing and began to stalk toward the Copse. His steps were more careful, more restrained as he deftly picked his way towards his prey.
Sure, he could have just vanished into the shadows and struck from the darkness, the trees around him could provide him that luxury. But that wasn't hunting. That was killing. And it left a bad taste in his mouth. The hunt was a proud thing and it was one thing that Ashton would never cheat at. The animal deserved a chance, and assassinating it from the shadows was no way to hunt. He ducked his head under a low hanging branch and entered the copse. A few more steps brought him around a large tree-- perhaps the largest in the copse-- which then revealed his target. It was just as he thought, a sizable creature, a prize for a hunter. It would make for a fine kill.
He crouched beside the tree, sitting on his haunches and leaned up against it for stability. He drew an arrow from his quiver, the soft leather never giving away his position. In one smooth motion the arrow left the quiver, arced forward, nocked, and was drawn back to the fullest. The white fletching lay on his cheek as he bided his time. The positioning was perfect, broadside. Left him a clean shot to the creature's front shoulder, where it's heart was. Clean and quick, no suffering. He lined the shot up, and before he let the arrow sing, he issued a short and curt whistle. The stag paused it's grazing and looked toward the area where the whistle came from.
That's when the arrow struck. The arrow flew right where Ashton placed it, through the heart and out the other side. The creature managed to get one step forward before it fell. Moments passed with Ashton frozen in time. The deed was done, and the hunt was over. With that, he stood and made his way toward his kill, pride welling up in his heart.
The animal fell before Ithilian had loosed his arrow, another projectile striking it true, clean through the heart. He blinked once, before releasing the tension somewhat, lowering the bow. If these woods had belonged to the Dalish, his immediate thought of poacher would have been correct, and he would have had decent grounds for killing the intruder where they stood. That said, he had to remember that these lands did not, in fact, belong to the People, and then the shemlen of Kirkwall had the right to hunt here as well. The quality of the shot made him wonder if he had traveled too close to Marethari's clan, but when the hunter came forth towards the kill, his humanity was confirmed.
Had he been alone and a few months in the past, Ithilian would have given strong consideration to putting an arrow through the man's head, and taking what would have otherwise been his. But he was not alone, and he was not in the past. He had nearly come to the conclusion that a confrontation was best avoided when Lia made his thoughts irrelevant.
Hey!" she called out loudly, making her way forward before Ithilian could stop her. She crashed through the distance of undergrowth and bushes between them, coming to a stop a short ways away, well out of arm's reach, but close enough for them to speak without shouting. Ithilian was shortly behind her, his own movements silent compared to hers, seeming to almost soothe the forest, after the young girl had trampled it. "That was our kill, you know. We were here first." Ithilian resisted the urge to roll his eye at her boldness, only so he could keep his gaze on the human hunter. He had not returned the arrow to its quiver, nor the bow, only lowered it and released the tension on the string. He didn't want a problem in front of Lia, but some problems with the shemlen were unavoidable. He would not be caught unprepared.
The "Hey" cut through the silence like his arrow did to the deer, and the crashing of footsteps told him he that was no longer alone in the woods. He halted midstride and turned towards where the ruckus was coming from. The stark difference from the silence of one moment to the racket of (small) feet was staggering and it suddenly expelled all semblance of the hunter. At least the hunt was done with and he would not need to focus any more. It wasn't like the deer was going to resurrect and walk off... If it did, that would present other, more important issues. Like what the hell just happened. Either way, the owner of the noise wasn't some creature of the forest-- Well, in a sense, it was. Elves being elves and all. But still, this elf didn't seem Dalish to him. She was too adorable for that.
Ashton leaned on his bow and the girl blamed him for stealing their kill. So she wasn't alone. Made since, with the racket she caused, she couldn't have been hunting alone. Nope, there had to be someone else with her, a much better hunter-- that was no doubt. But still, she was adorable, and that made him feel an obscene amount of guilt. His eyes went to the felled creature, and when they returned, he relized that the girl was no longer alone... Another elf-- this one with a scary face that was half-covered with a cloth. The bow with an arrow nocked didn't help either. However, it did answer the question as to who she was hunting with. Compared to the girl's footsteps, this man was silent.
"I apologize sweetheart," he said, kneeling. He hoped the gesture would set them, and especially the scary elf with the bow, at ease. "It's a testament to you and your father's skills as hunters that I couldn't tell that others were hunting the same creature. I promise, if I knew that such a lovely lady as yourself was hunting him, I'd let you have him," he said. It was the truth. He may have been stalking the creature for the better part of the afternoon and though he was serious and focused during the hunt, he would have gladly let her have it. There was nothing like the experience of the hunt, and he would never willingly take that away from the child.
The word sweetheart was enough to get an annoyed twitch out of the scarred corner of Ithilian's mouth. It wasn't strange that the human had mistaken them for father and daughter. He was well aware that that was exactly how they looked. In a moment that saddened him slightly, Ithilian realized that was exactly how he had intended it. Among the Dalish, it likely would have mattered little, as each clan was more or less a family, each child raised by all, in addition to their own parent.
This hunter's aim, he could respect. He hadn't noticed him before, which meant he was quiet, experienced at what he did. That also made him dangerous. His tongue, however, was asking to be cut out, something Ithilian would have gladly performed had Lia not been present. "Do you speak to every daughter in that way, even when the father is present?" he asked, not actually wanting an answer. He moved in front of Lia slightly, studying the man a little closer. He seemed vaguely familiar, but then again, he had trouble telling many shemlen apart.
"Do you hunt here often?" Ithilian asked. He wasn't interested in more encounters like this occurring, certainly not when Lia was present. He'd rather find another place to teach her to hunt, than to risk repeated conversations with this shem and his nausea-inducing compliments towards a twelve year old.
His line of sight with the elf girl, and perhaps the friendlier face of the two, was cut off by her father, stepping protectively between her and himself. Fair enough, he was armed, and had just taken down a kill. If he was a different person and had a daughter with him, he couldn't say that he'd do anything differently. The world was dangerous place after all, no telling what kind of strange people it held. Honestly. While it would be better on the legs to keep kneeling while he spoke to the man, it didn't seem like the proper thing to do, so he rose up to his full lank, once again. Though, he did make an attempt to reign himself in and do it slowly as to not set the man off. He had the look of someone who was rarely happy and they were alone in the woods. Who would miss him if he just didn't... Come back?
He let the first question fly by unmolested. It didn't sound like one that warranted an answer, and truth be told, Ashton reckoned that the man didn't care. Though... Yes, he supposed he did talk to a lot of people like that, no matter the circumstances-- well, except maybe if they look like they could crush his neck if they set their mind to it. The Arishok, case in point. The next question caused him to pause and examine his surroundings. So enthralled was he in the hunt, he wasn't quite sure of the path he took. He could get back to the city, no issue, but still. It'd be nice to know where one was when getting stared down by a man with one eye and his daughter. Upon further reflection, he concluded that no, this was not his normal hunting grounds. It seemed as if the stag had led him on a magnificent journey to a hither unseen part of the forest. Neat.
With that settled, he shook his head no. "No, can't say that it is. I've just been tracking that big fella for a while. Took me out of my usual hunting grounds, a couple of hours work-- Not that it wasn't your kill mind," he added for the girl behind the man. That brought up a muddy pool of ethics in the hunt. Would the kill belong to the one who stalked the deer? Or the one whom the deer came to. It wasn't something Ashton felt like sifting though at the moment. Instead, he offered up a trade.
"How about this sweet-- uh, How about this?" Ashton said, catching himself and forcing himself to look at the father. "Say you take the antlers now-- have him carve something pretty for you," He added as an aside to the girl. The man looked like the type of elf that carved things. Surely those daggers at his sides are used for something else besides stabbing, "And I'll take the deer proper, have him processed in my shop. I'll give you and yours a discount if you come in? It's a win-win, really." Appeasement. Smooth.
The hunter appeared uncomfortable looking at Ithilian, even if the elf had to look up to meet his eyes. He studied him for a moment, deciding if his offer was meant as charity, or as an attempt to part on peaceful terms. For his sake, Ithilian hoped it was the latter. Without responding, Ithilian slid one of his long knives from a sheath and knelt, plunging it with precision into the animal's head and getting to work. Lia chose to remain quiet, perhaps in response to the tone Ithilian was taking with the hunter.
The Dalish some words under his breath as he cut, otherwise not acknowledging that there were others around. In his head, he was struggling to contain aggression. In his opinion, the human had shown a blatant lack of respect for him in the way he'd spoken to Lia. The fact that he'd incorrectly assumed him to be her father was meaningless. The man was good with a bow, but Ithilian was willing to bet he wouldn't last long if he were to be taken to with knives. They were in the middle of the forest. Surely it would be days before anyone even went looking for him.
But the girl behind him stayed his hand, and he didn't even know why. Was she too young? Had he been too young when his own father had introduced him to bloodshed? His father hadn't thought so. His clan hadn't thought so. If this shem had threatened them in any way, in addition to disrespecting them, he wouldn't have hesitated, and he would have felt justified...
Bah. It was too complicated. He needed to get away from this. To be alone. He finished severing the antlers, rising. "We're leaving," he said, more to Lia than the human, as he strode away. Lia looked back to make sure Ithilian wasn't watching, before giving the hunter a quick wave of goodbye.
Lia's left arm wobbled visibly, struggling to keep the drawn arrow level. The Dalish leaned up against the nearest tree, arms crossed, watching her form from beyond the girl's peripherals. She looked rather silly. It hadn't surprised Ithilian to learn that Lia didn't own a single pair of pants suitable for the forest, nothing but handspun dresses and simple sandals. He'd been easily able to buy some clothes from a Lowtown tailor using a small portion of the reward he'd collected from Hubert, but he had slightly overestimated her size. Perhaps he'd been using the wrong reference.
Her boots would give her blisters if they continued on much longer, he knew. Her feet were soft, delicate things, having tasted no other dirt than the kind that blew in from the foundry districts. They would toughen, if Ithilian had his way. Her trousers were a muddy brown, baggy things, held up by a buckled belt fastened tightly about her waist. Her tunic was meant for a girl probably three years her senior. It had fallen nearly to her knees until she'd bunched it up and tucked it under the belt.
He'd make her a hunter yet.
It was her choice, too. It had been Lia that had come to Ithilian one day under the vhenadahl, interrupting a conversation between he and Amalia in order to ask him for a lesson. She had convinced her father of the usefulness, and of her own desire, and he had relented, giving the Dalish permission to teach his daughter. And so here they were, trying to put arrows into a tree trunk twenty meters away. The reward from Hubert had given Ithilian time to do as he pleased for a while, exactly as he had wanted.
"It's too big," she said, referring to the bow, "the string is too hard to pull back. It's making my arm shake." Ithilian gazed at the weapon, not his own bow, but another of his creation, smooth whitewood with inlays of silver halla horn spiraling along the ends, seemingly dancing along the wood. He allowed himself a great deal of pride. It was beautiful. "It should be difficult at first," he explained, "but you'll grow stronger if you practice. In time it will seem easy. Lift your elbow."
She did so, the altered position helping her somewhat, and steadying her hand. Unwilling to hold it any longer, however, she released her hold, the arrow loosing with a twang, the whitewood bow extending back to full length as the arrow left. It skimmed the side of the tree, taking off some bark before it sailed into the distance. Ithilian judged it for a moment. "That was better. You learn quickly."
The sun was getting low, casting a yellow orange light through the canopy of the forest. "We should return. I've kept you too long. Let's fetch the arrow and then return." Though somewhat disappointed, Lia was clearly worn out, and nodded her head. "Can we practice more tomorrow?" she asked, sliding the bow over her shoulder as he had shown her. "Perhaps," was all the response he was willing to return. This was... a learning experience for him as well. Or rather, re-learning.
They set off after the lost arrow, Ithilian pulling the three he'd put in the trunk himself on the way. He traveled slow, allowing the girl to take her own pace. He often forgot that she was not as comfortable with the landscape as he and his kin were. This was the unnatural to her, the cities her home ground. It was so backwards, it made him feel ill to linger on it.
As they crested a small hill however, Ithilian held out his hand to stop her, his eye picking up movement in the distance. A deer, a sizeable prize to bring back. He slid his bow from the sheath on his back, pointing it out to Lia as he drew an arrow. "Watch," he commanded. He hadn't actually killed anything in front of her yet, and wondered what her reaction would be when he made the shot. She would have to get used to it, one way or the other, if she intended on being a huntress. He pulled back the arrow, the string resting taut against his upper lip, as he breathed slowly out, lining up the shot to pass through the deer's head.
A shadowy figure danced through the woods, leaving neither trail nor sound in it's wake. Which was strange, considering the shadowy figure was none other than Ashton. For once, he had his large mouth closed and actually seemed focused on the task at hand. He neither wore the jester-like grin that defined him nor even the silly glint that danced in his eyes. In the place of that, he wore a stern frown followed by eyes filled with purpose. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. He had earned enough money in order pay rent on his shop, but that mattered little if he had nothing to sell. That was the goal that day. Inventory for the shop. He had an order for leather boots to fill and he had to restock his supply of venison. He gave away what little he had left for nothing as any longer in his shop and it would spoil. Not that he needed a reason to be in the forest... He never felt more alive when he was in the forest. He weaved around another tree with guile and dexterity belying his tall frame. He was crouched low to the ground, so that the aforementioned frame wouldn't spell out his position to his prey.
He was on the hunt, one of the rare places where all traces of the fool dropped and was replaced by an intelligent and sharp entity. In this state, he was a bloodhound, tracking down his target with acute senses honed by years of practice. Light footsteps that were more akin to the wind washing through the forest rather than a human. He had picked up the trail of a deer, a large one according to it's prints. He had passed a scrapping on a tree as he hunted, gathering that it was a stag with antlers any bar owner would be proud to have hanging over his door, but to the hunter, the antlers would be used as well. Waste not, want not after all. His shop didn't need such extravagancies. It was a shop, not a museum, and everything in his shop had a utilitarian purpose.
The hunt had been going on for an hour then, and Ashton knew that he would catch up to it soon. The prints led to the base of a hill, and if Ashton was a betting man (he was) then he'd bet all the gold that he earned from Jarvis (if he hadn't already thrown it in the Viscount's general direction) that the deer would be in a small copse, bedding down for the evening. That only left the issue of getting through it without the stag hearing him. He lowered his breathing and began to stalk toward the Copse. His steps were more careful, more restrained as he deftly picked his way towards his prey.
Sure, he could have just vanished into the shadows and struck from the darkness, the trees around him could provide him that luxury. But that wasn't hunting. That was killing. And it left a bad taste in his mouth. The hunt was a proud thing and it was one thing that Ashton would never cheat at. The animal deserved a chance, and assassinating it from the shadows was no way to hunt. He ducked his head under a low hanging branch and entered the copse. A few more steps brought him around a large tree-- perhaps the largest in the copse-- which then revealed his target. It was just as he thought, a sizable creature, a prize for a hunter. It would make for a fine kill.
He crouched beside the tree, sitting on his haunches and leaned up against it for stability. He drew an arrow from his quiver, the soft leather never giving away his position. In one smooth motion the arrow left the quiver, arced forward, nocked, and was drawn back to the fullest. The white fletching lay on his cheek as he bided his time. The positioning was perfect, broadside. Left him a clean shot to the creature's front shoulder, where it's heart was. Clean and quick, no suffering. He lined the shot up, and before he let the arrow sing, he issued a short and curt whistle. The stag paused it's grazing and looked toward the area where the whistle came from.
That's when the arrow struck. The arrow flew right where Ashton placed it, through the heart and out the other side. The creature managed to get one step forward before it fell. Moments passed with Ashton frozen in time. The deed was done, and the hunt was over. With that, he stood and made his way toward his kill, pride welling up in his heart.
The animal fell before Ithilian had loosed his arrow, another projectile striking it true, clean through the heart. He blinked once, before releasing the tension somewhat, lowering the bow. If these woods had belonged to the Dalish, his immediate thought of poacher would have been correct, and he would have had decent grounds for killing the intruder where they stood. That said, he had to remember that these lands did not, in fact, belong to the People, and then the shemlen of Kirkwall had the right to hunt here as well. The quality of the shot made him wonder if he had traveled too close to Marethari's clan, but when the hunter came forth towards the kill, his humanity was confirmed.
Had he been alone and a few months in the past, Ithilian would have given strong consideration to putting an arrow through the man's head, and taking what would have otherwise been his. But he was not alone, and he was not in the past. He had nearly come to the conclusion that a confrontation was best avoided when Lia made his thoughts irrelevant.
Hey!" she called out loudly, making her way forward before Ithilian could stop her. She crashed through the distance of undergrowth and bushes between them, coming to a stop a short ways away, well out of arm's reach, but close enough for them to speak without shouting. Ithilian was shortly behind her, his own movements silent compared to hers, seeming to almost soothe the forest, after the young girl had trampled it. "That was our kill, you know. We were here first." Ithilian resisted the urge to roll his eye at her boldness, only so he could keep his gaze on the human hunter. He had not returned the arrow to its quiver, nor the bow, only lowered it and released the tension on the string. He didn't want a problem in front of Lia, but some problems with the shemlen were unavoidable. He would not be caught unprepared.
The "Hey" cut through the silence like his arrow did to the deer, and the crashing of footsteps told him he that was no longer alone in the woods. He halted midstride and turned towards where the ruckus was coming from. The stark difference from the silence of one moment to the racket of (small) feet was staggering and it suddenly expelled all semblance of the hunter. At least the hunt was done with and he would not need to focus any more. It wasn't like the deer was going to resurrect and walk off... If it did, that would present other, more important issues. Like what the hell just happened. Either way, the owner of the noise wasn't some creature of the forest-- Well, in a sense, it was. Elves being elves and all. But still, this elf didn't seem Dalish to him. She was too adorable for that.
Ashton leaned on his bow and the girl blamed him for stealing their kill. So she wasn't alone. Made since, with the racket she caused, she couldn't have been hunting alone. Nope, there had to be someone else with her, a much better hunter-- that was no doubt. But still, she was adorable, and that made him feel an obscene amount of guilt. His eyes went to the felled creature, and when they returned, he relized that the girl was no longer alone... Another elf-- this one with a scary face that was half-covered with a cloth. The bow with an arrow nocked didn't help either. However, it did answer the question as to who she was hunting with. Compared to the girl's footsteps, this man was silent.
"I apologize sweetheart," he said, kneeling. He hoped the gesture would set them, and especially the scary elf with the bow, at ease. "It's a testament to you and your father's skills as hunters that I couldn't tell that others were hunting the same creature. I promise, if I knew that such a lovely lady as yourself was hunting him, I'd let you have him," he said. It was the truth. He may have been stalking the creature for the better part of the afternoon and though he was serious and focused during the hunt, he would have gladly let her have it. There was nothing like the experience of the hunt, and he would never willingly take that away from the child.
The word sweetheart was enough to get an annoyed twitch out of the scarred corner of Ithilian's mouth. It wasn't strange that the human had mistaken them for father and daughter. He was well aware that that was exactly how they looked. In a moment that saddened him slightly, Ithilian realized that was exactly how he had intended it. Among the Dalish, it likely would have mattered little, as each clan was more or less a family, each child raised by all, in addition to their own parent.
This hunter's aim, he could respect. He hadn't noticed him before, which meant he was quiet, experienced at what he did. That also made him dangerous. His tongue, however, was asking to be cut out, something Ithilian would have gladly performed had Lia not been present. "Do you speak to every daughter in that way, even when the father is present?" he asked, not actually wanting an answer. He moved in front of Lia slightly, studying the man a little closer. He seemed vaguely familiar, but then again, he had trouble telling many shemlen apart.
"Do you hunt here often?" Ithilian asked. He wasn't interested in more encounters like this occurring, certainly not when Lia was present. He'd rather find another place to teach her to hunt, than to risk repeated conversations with this shem and his nausea-inducing compliments towards a twelve year old.
His line of sight with the elf girl, and perhaps the friendlier face of the two, was cut off by her father, stepping protectively between her and himself. Fair enough, he was armed, and had just taken down a kill. If he was a different person and had a daughter with him, he couldn't say that he'd do anything differently. The world was dangerous place after all, no telling what kind of strange people it held. Honestly. While it would be better on the legs to keep kneeling while he spoke to the man, it didn't seem like the proper thing to do, so he rose up to his full lank, once again. Though, he did make an attempt to reign himself in and do it slowly as to not set the man off. He had the look of someone who was rarely happy and they were alone in the woods. Who would miss him if he just didn't... Come back?
He let the first question fly by unmolested. It didn't sound like one that warranted an answer, and truth be told, Ashton reckoned that the man didn't care. Though... Yes, he supposed he did talk to a lot of people like that, no matter the circumstances-- well, except maybe if they look like they could crush his neck if they set their mind to it. The Arishok, case in point. The next question caused him to pause and examine his surroundings. So enthralled was he in the hunt, he wasn't quite sure of the path he took. He could get back to the city, no issue, but still. It'd be nice to know where one was when getting stared down by a man with one eye and his daughter. Upon further reflection, he concluded that no, this was not his normal hunting grounds. It seemed as if the stag had led him on a magnificent journey to a hither unseen part of the forest. Neat.
With that settled, he shook his head no. "No, can't say that it is. I've just been tracking that big fella for a while. Took me out of my usual hunting grounds, a couple of hours work-- Not that it wasn't your kill mind," he added for the girl behind the man. That brought up a muddy pool of ethics in the hunt. Would the kill belong to the one who stalked the deer? Or the one whom the deer came to. It wasn't something Ashton felt like sifting though at the moment. Instead, he offered up a trade.
"How about this sweet-- uh, How about this?" Ashton said, catching himself and forcing himself to look at the father. "Say you take the antlers now-- have him carve something pretty for you," He added as an aside to the girl. The man looked like the type of elf that carved things. Surely those daggers at his sides are used for something else besides stabbing, "And I'll take the deer proper, have him processed in my shop. I'll give you and yours a discount if you come in? It's a win-win, really." Appeasement. Smooth.
The hunter appeared uncomfortable looking at Ithilian, even if the elf had to look up to meet his eyes. He studied him for a moment, deciding if his offer was meant as charity, or as an attempt to part on peaceful terms. For his sake, Ithilian hoped it was the latter. Without responding, Ithilian slid one of his long knives from a sheath and knelt, plunging it with precision into the animal's head and getting to work. Lia chose to remain quiet, perhaps in response to the tone Ithilian was taking with the hunter.
The Dalish some words under his breath as he cut, otherwise not acknowledging that there were others around. In his head, he was struggling to contain aggression. In his opinion, the human had shown a blatant lack of respect for him in the way he'd spoken to Lia. The fact that he'd incorrectly assumed him to be her father was meaningless. The man was good with a bow, but Ithilian was willing to bet he wouldn't last long if he were to be taken to with knives. They were in the middle of the forest. Surely it would be days before anyone even went looking for him.
But the girl behind him stayed his hand, and he didn't even know why. Was she too young? Had he been too young when his own father had introduced him to bloodshed? His father hadn't thought so. His clan hadn't thought so. If this shem had threatened them in any way, in addition to disrespecting them, he wouldn't have hesitated, and he would have felt justified...
Bah. It was too complicated. He needed to get away from this. To be alone. He finished severing the antlers, rising. "We're leaving," he said, more to Lia than the human, as he strode away. Lia looked back to make sure Ithilian wasn't watching, before giving the hunter a quick wave of goodbye.