[Kenkuroi Mithania]

It was Morendil’s turn to look away as his father turned to look at him. Rather than face his near mirror-image, or what he could imagine he would look like when he was older and depressed just like the older elf in front of him, the young half elf chose instead to look at the bottles of Moonwillow’s very own brew, stacked on a wooden desk. They were prove of his father’s alcoholic state and no doubt some of them were a few brightenings old already and yet to be disposed.

He reached out for a particular bottle, one that seem freshly opened and still hold the contents of the intoxicating liquid, then proceed to drink from it, not caring that it belonged to his father and was as essential to the old man as tobacco was essential to him. Like father like son, Morendil was a good drinker. In just a few gulps, he had nearly drained the bottle dry and yet showed no signs of drunkenness, having possessed high alcohol tolerance. Truly his father’s son, though the truth was he had learned to drink from a very early age and not from his father neither but from his Kemite human mother.

Setting the now near empty bottle back down on the desk and wiping his mouth with the collar of his badly buttoned shirt, Morendil appeared to not have heard his father’s statement….. or pretended not to. But with a bored, disinterested expression on his face, he finally turned to face his father, and still with a frosty voice replied, “I’ve decided. I’m not learning Song. I refuse. Teach me Thauma-whatever is it called thing instead. They told me your brother was a master at it…” as he spoke the last sentence, careful eyes studied his father. He had purposely mentioned his uncle, the very reason his father was in the state he was now.