Thilfonir adjusted his bracers yet another time, shifting his weight as he looked over the town below. It was a quiet place, and he did not know its name; nor did he know how it would treat a strange elf inside its walls. But the elf was lost, tired, hungry, bruised, and aching; and the possibility of a night with shelter, a night not spent on the forest floor or up in the branches of a tree, was enough temptation to risk it.
He was dressed in the garb of an Elven hunter, a dagger at his waist. The ongoing conflict between Templars and mages made travelling in his robes and carrying his staff a dangerous prospect: he was in danger enough as a Dalish elf, alone and far from home; he didn’t need to make things worse. It was close-fitting, and uncomfortable, but the light armor helped him play the part of the hunter well.
So, stowing away his staff and making sure he knew where he could retrieve it when he left this place, he followed the road down the hills until dirt path gave way to streets, and trees gave way to houses. Pulling up his hood to cover his ears instinctively as passerby cast him looks, he licked his lips nervously and scanned the buildings for sign of something, anything, that might offer what he needed. A market or shop to trade what little he had for supplies, a tavern to plead for a bed, even just a stable to sneak a night’s rest in the hayloft would be welcome. He picked his way slowly through the streets, and something caught his eye.
In the windows of houses here and there glowed red lanterns, warm and welcoming. After the third such house, he paused, eyeing the building with furrowed brows. As he watched, a stranger approached its door and, hesitating only briefly, pushed it open and went inside. Through the window he saw a woman greet them warmly, snuff the lantern, and close the curtains to seal them both away from the world, and he tilted his head slightly in curious confusion. This was not the first time he’d seen such a thing; it had happened every so often in other towns he’d wandered into, people of all different shapes, sizes, colours, and genders moving freely in and out of these lantern-lit houses.
Perhaps... perhaps the red lantern meant safety, sanctuary: my door is open, come and I will give you shelter. A signal, for those who knew what the lantern meant. It made sense enough, and it was worth a try.
At the next house that bore such a lantern, Thilfonir took a deep breath, laid a hand against the door, and tried it: he found it unlatched, swinging open gently beneath his touch, and he stepped inside carefully.
