As Widlast approached the door, snatches of conversation whipped by him.
"Dear me! Oh! Excuse me"
"Mr. Boffin, I presume?...welch on an arrangement with you...for the inconvenience the twins... "
Civil. Far too civil for men, anyway, which meant he'd reached holbytlan country. Pivoting to take a look around, he squinted hard at the branches suspended in the still air. He scratched at his ear, picking at the thought, silly though it seemed, that he'd expected the trees somehow to be smaller. The elf was still in the doorway, traces of toast and blurred chatter pushing past her. Widlast tucked his thumb inside his belt and leaned against a post near the door. In the tales, what elves purposed or misliked they did in ways beyond mens' understanding, moving in their own time. Most like, it already knew he was behind it, toying with a stone under his boot. Best he give it room to be. The way would be neither the longer or the dustier for him having to stand and wait for the elf to move on. He caught a pair of brown eyes at the elf's elbow, belonging he supposed to the innman, who carried himself well for looking all of ten. Pushing his weight into the worn wooden post, he settled himself on waiting until the innkeeper approached him.
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