Alderman Brown watched from his porch as the carriage rolled into village. Seeing such transports pass through the village wasn't uncommon as the road passed by their homes and towards the more popular seaside towns. Seeing someone stop now? That was strange. Especially in the evening! The coaches would normally stop over in the larger town of Applefell, where they might gorge themselves on meats and brews of the finest until morning brought them to the road again. There was no inn or hostel here, Arbordale being too small to support such services or even a coach yard. So the sight of the pretty young woman stepping out and down upon the ground with a bewildered air was puzzling. Still. No need to make her feel unwelcome, he decided. Pushing his ancient and amble frame out of his chair, he ambled down towards the road with his pipe leaving a fine trail of plumed smoke behind him. Balding and aged, Brown was alderman because he had six sons to work his lands, the wealth to show for it, a genial everyman's common sense that passed for wisdom and for the fact that he was the oldest man in or around Arbordale.

"Good morrow, miss! Good morrow!" he huffed as he laboriously made his way up to her. "Not many travelers stop their stay here! Is there trouble with your coach or horses, then?" He braced himself for some acid response, the arrogance and surly attitude of even the lowest of the city dwellers well known even in this back-beyond. Yet the Alderman was of a mind that no one who passed or stopped in his village would find them lacking in manners or kindness, despite whatever passed for decency in the urban sprawls. "We've no inn here, but if you're parched or sickly we can open the public house early for you while you wait?"