Patchouli

One day Patchouli opened up a storefront, or rather, a stall. He erected little sign, a simplistic graphic, possibly representing a feather engraved in the wood. He never advertises beyond that. Never waving his wares around, or yelling to the passersby (and there are only a few, he picked a rather shaded and quiet dead-end path to open his stall). He is always quiet and contemplative. Even now he can be seen sitting there behind the counter, his little forelegs folded in, seemingly lost in thought. For a full two days no one even knew what he was selling. Finally someone went up and asked, politely inquiring, "Excuse me, may I ask what it is you sell here?". After a thoughtful pause, he cleared his teeny throat and a small voice squeaked out "Thank you for asking, I am a fletcher."

"A fletcher?"

"Why yes, I craft arrows"

"I don't see any arrows..." She remarked, puzzled. Even up close she saw no cases of goods, or crates of materials anywhere.

"They're made by order," He calmly explained "That way they're special for each customer."

"Oh...." After an awkward silence. She spoke up again, "That is very nice. But...um, in my years here, I've never known there to be an archer living in this clan."

"Ah, yes..." He said passively, as though this was not news to him, "That is ok."

"Oh, ok..." Not knowing what else there was to say, she awkwardly left to continue her stroll.

"Thanks for stopping in, have a nice day!"