263
You peer through the grimy glass and see a grizzled old Drakkar sitting in front of a blazing fire. A briar pipe hangs precariously from the corner of his bearded mouth and he puffs fitfully at its contents as he reads from a tattered, leather-bound book which lies open in his lap.
You sense that he is a veteran of many battles who, now that he is too old to fight, has been given the undemanding task of guarding this river crossing. Mindful that time is fast running out, you leave the window and hurry on towards the stables.
