Yes yes, you want to know about this Hawk fellow and the man in the closet. I can't really tell you much, other than Hawk was the leads of the Red Roses. Then, Falra didn't know what that exactly meant. Not till she met the man that she would later give her heart to. Oh! I have you attention as I mention that do I? Well it's not Drunn if that's what you're wondering. No, Drunn was something more to her, he was a lover, teacher, and friend. But he could never be the man she gave her heart to, the man she stayed by till she would be pulled from him by death, captured, or sent away by his hand. But that is another story yes? This one is about a blood, danger, and a closet.
As Falra told me, she stumbled on a scene that made no sense to her. On a customary stroll through the Prancing Pony to see whom was there, she walked into the hall to see a man lying in a puddle of his own blood, Hawk standing over him. She neither seen who attacked him, nor what caused the wound. When she approached to give aid, Hawk stopped her, signing that the man was dangerous and to stay back. She did as bid and stood silent as he stuffed him in a closet.
You see, this action made Falra both curious and a bit scared of what was going on. Surprised as a woman move around her side, having not felt her foot falls under the balls of her feet on the wood flooring. This could only mean one thing, someone trained as Hawk was. Everything she knew of the man, for she knew little other than he was a father of a sweet young lass, seemed to be turned upside down. She couldn't help wonder if the man was truly dangerous to all, or just Hawk. And if he was dangerous to just Hawk, why?
Biding her time till there was no one near the closet and getting help from a friend, the man was released. Asking no questions, and giving no answers, Falra tended to his wounds, cleaning, and sewing them up. Wrapping them with a thin layer of ointment to help stave off infection.
Never did she learn what had happened, she'd seen the man several times after within the main room of the Pony, checking on his stitches and wound till it was time to remove them. Each time, the sat in silence, his lips never moving, hers never asking what exactly happened. For something within her thought it was better to not know.
