A stiff breeze flows through a tattered coat; as an old man, who has seen better times teeters along. Boreas's beard it's cold he muttered, the flickering of fire draws Grelkin's attention to a welcoming glow emanating from a pair of windows at the end of the street. Thoughts of the cozy hearth-side table he once knew so well filled his mind.
Determined paint peels away from an old wooden sign mounted in front of a forgotten building; trace lettering on its surface barely makes out "Thistle Bar". Thoughts of mother's Nettle Tea flood Grelkin's mind, quickly followed by memories of romps in the wood with his brothers and of family.
Boreas's breath resumed its relentless assault as Grelkin hobbled along.
