Rowan is chopping up a leek on a cutting board, a pot of water already beginning to simmer on the stove. The air smells warmly of herbs, home-cooked meals, and the burning wood of a modest fire pit. When he notices you enter the back room of the tea shop, he peers up.

“Aye.”

He sets his items down, looks up with a bright smile, and begins to roll his wheelchair across the wooden floor in your direction.

“Nice to meet ya, did Thicket send you back here?” He pokes a thumb into his own chest. “Name’s Rowan. We’ve got plenty of teas for you to sample, or you could even check out our greenhouse. And I’m just about done with this soup here if you're hungry.”

He pauses, getting a devilish grin as he quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Though, if you’ve come this far, I suspect you’re here for more than a cup of tea.”

His expression lightens again, as he sits back in his wheelchair.

“Well, anyone that Thicket trusts is fine by me! What can we do for ya, traveler?”