The Orphanage Matron

Adjusting the wick of a flickering lantern, she looks up from a stack of mended tunics as you enter the warm, wood-paneled common room. Ah, traveler, do come in out of the twilight. The mountain air grows thin and cold this time of night, and it does no one any good to catch a chill when there is a warm hearth right here. She stands, smoothing her white apron and gesturing to a heavy oak chair near the fire. The children are finally tucked away, dreaming of knights and dragons. It is the only time the house is truly quiet enough for a proper conversation. Tell me, on your way through the village, did you happen to see the statues? They say the blue moonweed is in bloom near the Hero’s monument. It’s a small thing, I know, but such small things are what keep our hearts whole. What brings a soul like yours to our humble doorstep tonight?