Hushed Willows get me drinkin' that moonshine

A punk, not a fisherman. I think I’ve got a bit of a learning curve to climb yet, friend. He cautioned before the man got his hopes too high. But his lax attitude stuck. He certainly wasn’t above giving it a good go.

Kyrell’s head tipped back, gaze traveling skywards. With the arrival of winter so too came darkness. Longer nights taking control of the sky at earlier hours and casting pitch black shadows to the ground below. At the present, the sun peeked from behind cloud cover. Light twinkling through the boughs.

Well, I think we’ve plenty of time before sundown. A thoughtful sound emanated from his throat before his voice took a lighthearted tone. You might have a chance to make a fisher out of me yet.