The vardo wagon slowly meandered down the forest path.  It was garishly painted in crimson and limned in gold.  It's oaken shutters sealed against the possibility of an errant branch shattering the valuable glass windows.  A brass pole rose up above the wagon, from which hung the single gas lamp that illuminated the path so that the horse could see.

Beneath that lamp, atop the wagon a beautiful woman guided the horse drawn wagon.  She was pale of skin, the pale alabaster washed with the warm glow of the overhead lamp.  She leaned forwards, her blue elven eyes peering through the darkness, attempting to spot upraised roots or anything else that might unshoe her horse.  She was certain that there was an inn ahead.  The old man she had run across had assured her of it but she could see no sign of it.

"By Sharess' bountiful tits," the woman cursed, complaining about not seeing the inn, "Where the bloody hell is this place?"

The woman didn't like moving at night.  Normally she pulled her wagon over, barred the doors and windows, cast an illusory spell to hide her and the wagon and slept straight through until morning.  The only reason she was still going was because the old man had stated there was that inn ahead.  In an inn she could do some dancing, sell some drugs, sell some fake magical trinkets, or even entertain a paramour- anything for a little coin.  Instead she was wandering through the dark.